Squirrel: To World's End
by ICRepresentative
Summary: PostDMC to preAWE, some spoilers. Jack Sparrow is dead, but the crew, including Will, Elizabeth and Squirrel, are sailing to the ends of the earth to bring him back. But the journey won't be easy, especially now that not everyone shares the same agenda.
1. Dreams, Nothing More

**Disclaimer**: I'm not going to be funny just yet, seeing this is the first chapter and everything. Suffice to say I don't own anything here, except the creative process and the character of Squirrel. Everything else belongs to Disney, Bruckhemier, and Verbinski.

**A/N**: No AWE spoilers, just a bit of creative license with the characters and the events unfolding. Spoilers will not be in place for a while yet, but there's plenty of **_foreshadowing_**. (That has to be one of my most favourite words.) Also, if anyone has any better idea for the title of the story, I'm more than happy to change it. Thanks.

* * *

The night was dark outside. Candles flickered over the water, held by silent tearful faces. The wavering lights cast long, dancing shadows which hinted at danger, death, deception. 

Inside, however, candles illuminated everything. The texture of the wood, the gleam of bottles hanging from the ceiling, the weave of hangings and clothing, the sheen of sweat on the men and women who stood silently, staring, unmoving, within the hut itself. The candlelight covered everything, but did not reveal all that was concealed.

A man in black stood before them, smiling a fearless smile. It was to him that the crew's faces were turned, faces which wore expressions of uncertainly, disbelief, fear, or perhaps even a combination of all three.

"Ah'm sure yah all know Kep-ten Barbossa," a dark-skinned woman purred, her lips parted in a smile of indigo-stained teeth. "So such a man need no introduction." The monkey on the captain's shoulder chirruped.

One of the fearful, disbelieving faces - a young man - turned to the dark-skinned woman. "This is the captain we are to follow?" He asked, his dark eyes frowning and wary. "This man?"

The man in black shifted his stance slightly. "I understand, Mr Turner, that our previous dealin's have been far from… pleasant." He turned his smile to all of those gathered. "None who stand here have any cause to trust me." One by one, every man - and one woman - shifted nervously under the captain's gaze, exchanging glances.

"But what choice do we have?"

Faces turned to a woman who leaned against the side wall. She was cradling her left hand - which was wrapped in a yellow cloth - and watching the spectacle with a detached expression and strangely glittering eyes.

"We need a captain," this woman said. She looked to the man in black. "I have heard the stories about you, sir. And - judging from the looks on everyone's faces - they're all true." The woman looked back to the young man who had spoken up before. The look in her eyes was laden with meaning. "But we _need_ a captain." She looked back to Barbossa. "And therefore, we need to be able to _trust_ our captain."

"Thankyou for that vote of confidence, my dear," Barbossa grinned slowly, then turned back to the assembled crewmen. "So. What say you? Can you take orders from me? Can you trust me?"

No-one moved. There was a long silence, filled only with the sound of candle flames. Then, the young man nodded.

"Yes," Will said, his eyes hard, briefly exchanging glances with the woman with the wounded hand. "But should you prove treacherous," he added to the man in black, "Then our trust will be withdrawn, and all that follows shall be on your own head. Mark me."

Barbossa smiled, though a little coldly. "I wouldn't expect anythin' else of you, Mr Turner." The monkey shifted place on Barbossa's shoulder, giving Will a strange little grin.

"What sey deh rest of you?" The dark-skinned sibyl - Tia Dalma - asked of the rest of the crew gathered. "Are ye still willin' to oonder-teke dis voyage, now dat you hev met your kep-ten?"

"Yes." The woman behind Will nodded, her voice husky from crying though her tears were gone. "Of course."

Barbossa made a small bow, the monkey on his shoulder mirroring the motion. "You're most kind, Miss Swann."

One by one, the other men in the room agreed. "Aye." Gibbs, Pintel, Ragetti, Marty, and Cotton all nodded, though their expressions were still wary, fearful, disbelieving.

"And I." the woman leaning against the wall added, pushing herself to her feet and looking directly into Barbossa's eyes, bold and unafraid. Her deep brown eyes betrayed nothing.

The man in black looked up at the assembled crewmen and women. "Ye all have agreed t' this," Barbossa said, smiling a lop-sided and knowing smile, his ice-blue eyes narrowed with what might be misinterpreted as cunning. "Ye all have said y'were willin' to take this course. If ye ever feel th' need to turn back, I won't stop ye. And none here'll think less of ye."

Glances were exchanged. Elizabeth looked over her shoulder to Gibbs; Gibbs looked to Marty and Cotton; Pintel and Ragetti looked to each other, then to the rest of the crew; the crew likewise looked back at them. But Will and the wounded woman exchanged glances with each other alone.

"No," Will said, facing Barbossa boldly and answering for everyone. "None of us will turn back. We've decided."

Barbossa nodded, as though he knew that's the answer he would hear. "Good."

"Den it's settled." Tia's voice was soft and gentle. "You are boun' to deh ends of deh eart'. But tonight… Yeh all need t' rest. Dreams pos'-poned make for ter'ble night-meers."

* * *

"I don't see why I have to stay here tonight." 

The young woman with the wounded hand stood at the balcony, looking out over the water. The crew were all dispersing, being led through the mangroves in coracles by dark-skinned, candle-bearing men and women. Elizabeth was taken alone one way, Barbossa another; Pintel and Ragetti seated together in one craft, and Will, Marty, Cotton, and Gibbs were being moved as a group in three separate boats. Slowly but surely, the tiny coracles vanished through the trees, pulled by silent, dark hands, through the swamp and into the night, to places of shelter where the crew could rest.

"You need your rest," Tia's voice was firm, but gentle. She was rifling in one of the many crates in her home, searching for something. "You are tired, you are sore…" Tia rose out of the crate, holding a small bottle of spices, and returned to the kitchen again. "And your han' needs attention."

"Then why isn't Miss Swann staying here?" The woman gripped the railing of the balcony tightly in her right hand, her knuckles white through the skin of her hand. "I would have thought it would be best for all the women to stay together."

"Elizabet', she need to be alone for to-night."

The woman snorted softly. "She's not the only one," she murmured to herself, a little darkly.

Tia tapped her foot, looking around the curtain that separated the private rooms of her home. "Come inside now, Miss Greeh. Come inside an' sit down."

Obediently, Squirrel turned away from the night, and came back into Tia's home, shutting the door behind her. She seated herself at Tia's table, and unwrapped her hand from the yellow cloth. She didn't blanch at the sight of her torn flesh, nor did she wince when she placed her hand in the already-bloody bowl of water on the table. She merely grit her teeth and breathed out hard.

Tia emerged from behind the curtain, a small dish in her hands. "_Non, non_," She clucked her tongue, "Teek it out of deh water, Miss Greeh. Is been in dere long enough."

With a carefully neutral face, Squirrel removed her hand from the bowl of water, and gingerly patted her bloody hand dry with the cloth.

Tia set down the dish she had brought out. "Eat, chil'," the sibyl dragged over a chair and sat on Squirrel's left. "Your friends tell me you've not eaten all deeh."

Squirrel was too tired to contradict the woman; she'd eaten breakfast, but only a handful of nuts for lunch. Still, considering, it wasn't enough. She might as well have eaten nothing. The smell of the ragout Tia had made was making Squirrel's stomach growl. With her left hand resting on the table, Squirrel manipulated the spoon with her right hand and ate ravenously, not minding the spices or the temperature of the meal.

Tia set the bowl of bloody water on the floor and pushed aside the collection of items that littered the table. She motioned for Squirrel to open her left hand, palm up - Squirrel did so, not even considering questioning Tia. She was too tired, too hungry, too sore, too heartbroken. She watched with half an eye as Tia procured a bobbin of bandages and a green lance of aloe. Tia examined Squirrel's palm and fingers, and made a noise in her throat. "What did you do to yerseelf, Miss Greeh?" She asked, with a sigh.

"I fought a Kraken," Squirrel shot back, taking another mouthful of the stew. "But, then, you knew that already."

Tia did not rise to the bait. "Dis migh' sting," Tia warned, cutting the green length of aloe open with her fingernail. Squirrel tensed her shoulders as she ate, but still watched, detachedly curious. The sibyl squeezed the aloe, and clear liquid oozed from the plant's wound. The juice of the aloe dripped into Squirrel's palm - Squirrel hissed in pain despite herself. Gently, Tia crushed the juice of the aloe all over Squirrel's torn hand, rubbing it in and spreading it with the length of aloe. Squirrel endured the pain with only miniscule grunts.

"How is deh ragout?" Tia asked, conversationally, trying to put Squirrel at ease. "Not too spicy for yoo?"

Squirrel found she was crushing the spoon in her hand. "No," she gritted out, forcing herself to hold the spoon more easily.

"Good," Tia said gently. "I'm glad you enjoy it. Deh catfish in it were brought in by a frien' of mine." There was none of her usual knowing purr in her voice tonight, just simple concern. But Squirrel was in no mood to be grateful.

"Catfish? What, not squid? And here I thought…"

"Don' snap at me, Miss Greeh." Tia looked under her eyelids at Squirrel. "I know you're angry, but I'm not deh one t' be tekkin' it out on." Her tone was sharp enough to drive Squirrel into a surly, almost-repentant silence. Tia set about unwinding the bandages, and then gently wrapped Squirrel's hand, slowly and easily, so as not to cause her any more pain. Slowly, Squirrel's fingers and palm were covered in soft white cloth. Squirrel watched, almost hypnotised by the movement of Tia's hands and the ease with which she moved. The voodoo witch's hands glowed brassy in the candlelight, and every movement was fluid and sure. So caught up in watching Tia, Squirrel didn't realise she'd finished the stew, or that Tia had finished wrapping Squirrel's hand. Squirrel just continued to stare, eyes unfocused on the present.

"You need sleep," Tia said gently, rousing Squirrel from her half-daze.

Squirrel nodded, eyelids heavy. Then she frowned. "I can't. I'm…"

"No." Tia interrupted. "Sleep now. Whatever you 'ave to say ken wait 'til mornin'." She rose to her feet, gently pulling Squirrel upright as well. The dark-skinned woman pushed aside a curtain, and gently led Squirrel through. In an alcove, surrounded by skins and cloths and bottles and other collected paraphernalia hanging from the ceiling and walls, lay a tiny pallet. Across the mattress was a soft woollen blanket.

"I 'ope is not too small fer you," Tia noted.

"It's fine," Squirrel murmured. With a full belly and her hand soothed and bandaged, the only thing her body wanted was rest. Sleep. Slowly, she staggered forward, climbing up onto the tiny bed, her left hand cradled to her stomach; she pulled the blanket around her, cold without her cloak. Unbalanced without the use of both hands, Squirrel's movements were clumsy, and she felt incomplete, and humiliated.

Tia stood in the entranceway, watching with something like saddened sympathy in her eyes as Squirrel settled herself. "I'd wish you sweet dreams," she said gently, "But I don' wan' to give you false 'ope."

Squirrel let out a long, long sigh. Tia's words had brought back what Squirrel had tried to push from her mind. Instead of answering Tia, she held up her bandaged hand. "How long until it's mended?" she asked wearily.

But the swamp woman just shook her head. "As' again in deh mornin'." She stepped back, letting the curtain fall into place. Her footsteps were soft and silent, but moved away, attending to other business.

Squirrel stared up at the ceiling, then closed her eyes in defeat and weariness. She let out another long sigh… and before the breath had fully left her lungs, she was asleep.

* * *

The Kraken's tentacles retreated, hissing and burning, leaving behind the trail of broken wood and blood and bodies of those brave sailors and pirates. Like snakes, the Kraken's arms slid away; they, like the sailors, were dead. They'd all been slain. 

But while the arms were dead, the Kraken was not. It was angry. And it would not leave without exacting retribution.

A woman in a blue-grey cloak flew to the arms of a sad-eyed pirate, crying with relief that he'd returned to save them from the fate he'd seemingly abandoned them to. She cried, embracing the pirate, oblivious to the stares of the rest of the crew.

And to the nervous, guilty half-glances from the lady.

"Abandon ship," the pirate said, pulling out of the cloaked woman's arms. The crew moved to obey, but the woman stayed behind. She stayed with her captain, wanting to give him courage. There was an imprint on her arm - a clear patch amid a stretch of burns.

Had she failed? It was hard to tell. Surely, something in his eyes spoke of his spirits lifting, if not his ego inflating. The woman in grey turned away from their half-kiss, smiling. She moved to follow the pirate's orders, almost dancing despite the solemnity of the day.

The knight waited for her in the boat, his smile reassuring. His armour glinted in the sun, like the ripples of the ocean below. The cloaked woman laughed with him, climbing down, not needing his arms to steady her. But then both knight and cloaked woman looked back. And there was no more dancing.

On the deck, the events playing out like a horrible farce, were the lady and the pirate. Their kiss, strong and powerful and passionate, drove green daggers into the hearts of the knight and the cloaked woman, slaying them both.

The breaking of these two hearts was an audible thing; the heart of the knight and the heart of the cloaked woman, already fragile as eggs, cracked and shattered. There was a taste of blood in the air; the waters of hope were muddied and fouled.

The knight caught the cloaked woman as she fell - two broken hearts falling together, yet never reaching each other. They were too preoccupied with their own shards to worry about the others'. There was no reassurance here. Just pain. Silent, undignified pain. The knight's armour reflected the cloaked woman's silver amulet; their eyes met, mirroring each other, and their pain.

The snakes reared up once more, and took the pirate to his grave, dragging him and his ship to the bottom of the ocean. The ship and the pirate sank and sank and sank… Lost to the depths of the sea.

The crew mourned. The lady wept. The knight sat in stoic silence, masked. But the cloaked woman felt nothing.

There was nothing left to feel.

Deep below the surface of the ocean, a dolphin waited, watching the bobbing lifeboat darkly. With slow deliberate sweeps of its tail, it followed the tiny boat as it crossed the sea. Behind the dolphin, across the textured marble waves, a man with no heart cried futile vengeance to the uncaring skies. And the cloaked woman heard, and silently heeded him.

It was the dream Squirrel had had since childhood. The same basic features and events remained unchanged, though details changed each night, with each dreaming. Tonight, however, though the dream had never been so real, so tangible, so close to what had transpired only a few hours before, Squirrel found herself watching from a distance. Watching as the figures acted out their parts. As though it were all a quaint little play. Strange how, that despite the fact that sometimes the dream could be so frightening, or calming, or encouraging, it now seemed merely a faint amusement.

It was, after all, just a dream.

She rose, standing on the threshold of a home within the trees. Around her, fireflies droned silently by. By the light of the candles, the cloaked woman saw her face in a mirror, and watched as her eyes changed colour.

"Time to mek a choice," a dark-skinned sibyl whispered, throwing a handful of cards into the air, where they hung suspended, floating there.

"I know," the cloaked woman said, taking one of the cards. She examined it, detached and cool. The five of diamonds. With a cold smile, the cloaked woman threw the card to the floor, where it dug into the floorboards with a metallic _thnk_. "But where do I want to go?" She asked, wryly. "And what do I want?" The card slowly swivelled, like the arrow of a compass - it pointed south-east.

The sea was calling. And with it… her destiny.

With a final sigh, the cloaked woman breathed out, and the air rose in a column of bubbles. The bubbles rose, flying to the sea's surface, dancing through the rays of light which sliced through the deep ocean water. Rays of warm light, strong and golden, and slowly brightening. Soon, the darkness of the ocean faded away, leaving boards and bottles, animal skins and ropes of coins, and other unidentifiable objects. Sunlight was streaming through the boards of Tia's home, and Squirrel was lying on her back staring up at the ceiling.

After all, it was just a dream. And everyone wakes from dreams eventually.


	2. Hand

**Disclaimer**: Yo ho, yo ho, no pirates belong to me… aside from Squirrel.

**A/N**: Just in case you are wondering, there are no AWE spoilers just yet, just speculation and creative license, and a whole bunch of foreshadowing.

* * *

There was a mirror hanging on one of the walls. A strange octagonal mirror with a red lacquered wood backing. Squirrel looked up at it curiously. Slowly, she sat up, reaching for the mirror. Her body twinged and groaned, bruised and sore from yesterday. But Squirrel forced herself to ignore the aches. She picked the mirror up - in her right hand alone - and peered through the dust on its surface. Her clouded reflection stared back at her. 

Her hair was wild, unkempt; her face was dirty and bloody; her clothes were encrusted with Kraken slime. With a snort of disgust, Squirrel set the mirror back in its place, then combed her fingers through her hair. As she worked one-handed to try and salvage her appearance, her fingers caught on something, and pulled painfully at her ear. Questing fingers found the object in question.

Her silver hoops. Her present from Anamaria. They were still there, still fastened in the newly-pierced holes of her ears. Squirrel lowered her hand slowly, not knowing what to think. On the one hand, she was relieved that she still had them both. It would have been terrible to lose them. On the other hand, however…

"_Just be careful. Sometimes things aren't always what you want them to be."_

Ana's voice - and her previously unheeded warning - flitted through Squirrel's mind. Squirrel stared off into space a moment, the corners of her lips pointing downwards. Ana had been trying to warn her friend, but Squirrel hadn't seen - didn't want to see - what Ana had meant.

"Hindsight," Squirrel muttered, rising to her feet and brushing aside the curtain. Tia's hut looked no different from last night, only this time, the candles were mostly extinguished; sunlight provided the light today.

Tia looked over her shoulder. "Good mornin', Miss Greeh." She rose from the table, holding something out to Squirrel. "Dis is yours." It was a dagger in its sheath.

Squirrel checked her belt, and sure enough, her own dagger was missing. Her shanghai and the belt pouches were still in place, but her dagger's sheath had been untied and taken from her. Angry, Squirrel snatched it out of Tia's hand. "You stole it? While I was sleeping?"

Tia's movements were as lazy and self-assured as a cat's. "I took it only t' clean it, Miss Greeh," she said, rising to her feet. "An' if I 'adn't, it would be rusted… and useless." She paused, turning back from her path to the kitchen with a raised eyebrow. "Yeer welcome." The curtain flipped aside, cloaking Tia as she pottered around in the kitchen. The clattering of bowls and the smell of catfish ragout wafted through the whole hut.

Squirrel drew the dagger, and it gleamed silver back at her, like a mirror. Both her blood and the Kraken's blood had left no sign whatsoever. Squirrel gave grudging grunt of gratitude, but she had other reasons to worry about Tia's gesture. As Squirrel retied the dagger and its sheath to her belt, she checked the pouches that hung from her belt. One contained a silver coin on a leather thong. The other contained a beautiful glass bottle. A bottle which Squirrel had stolen from Tia. Why she'd had stolen it, she didn't know. But she wasn't going to spend time thinking about it. And she wasn't going to think about what to do with the amulet, either. Yet.

"Hungry, Miss Greeh?" Tia's voice came from behind the curtain.

"Not really," Squirrel said, sitting down where she'd sat last night. Gingerly, she picked up one of the candleholders, and examined it closely. It was a baby bat. Artfully taxidermied, too. The way that the tiny wings were spread and held in place must have taken a lot of patience and care, considering how fragile the animals looked. Squirrel put the candleholder down carefully just as Tia reappeared.

"Hand on deh table," Tia instructed, holding a sheaf of pink papers and a jar.

Squirrel obediently stretched her bandaged left arm out as instructed. "What's the paper for?"

"You were badly 'urt, Miss Greeh. Your 'and needs a lot of keer afore you can use it ah-gheen." The swamp woman slowly unwrapped the bandages. Squirrel blanched; her palm and fingers were decimated. She hadn't seen the real damage last night, just the blood. But now she saw her hand in the light of day. Entire chunks of skin had been torn away. Blood and pus oozed across the half-scabbed wounded surface, the body's inadequate means of trying to heal itself. Tia clucked her tongue, turning Squirrel's hand and examining it closely.

"What a mess," Squirrel stared, suddenly afraid.

"Yes," Tia was as calm and unflappable as always. "But luckily not wid-dout remedy."

"Luckily…" Squirrel frowned darkly at her left palm.

"You don' believe in luck?" Tia asked, looking up at Squirrel, a curious smile dancing in her eyes.

"Not…"

Footsteps on the porch heralded the arrival of another. Both women's heads turned as the door opened. William Turner stood on the doorway; he stood there a moment, looking awkward, uncertain, not knowing what to say or do.

"Good mornin', Will-yam," Tia said gently, breaking the tension. "Sleep well?"

Will nodded, a small bow. "Well enough, thankyou." His eyes flickered to Squirrel. "And you, Miss Grey?"

Squirrel could only nod before she had to look back down at her hand.

Will crossed the threshold. There was concern in his eyes. "Are you alright? That looks…" He paused, lost for words, not wanting to offend or eliminate hope.

"She'll be fine," Tia answered for Squirrel. "This will 'eal."

"How long?" Squirrel asked the question, wanting the answer she'd been denied last night. "How long 'til it's healed?"

Tia looked frankly at Squirrel, her dark eyes both warning and patient. "Two, maybe t'ree weeks."

"Weeks!" Squirrel looked back at her bloody hand, incredulous. "Weeks?"

Tia looked carefully at Squirrel, head tilted, considering her. "Yees. Weeks." She tapped the raw skin of Squirrel's palm, making her flinch. "Dis kine o' woun' be unkind. You cannot rush it, or it will never 'eal. Ever. Undyerstand?" With that, she started tearing the paper into long strips with the expression of an exasperated mother, though there was a small smile playing about her lips.

Squirrel huffed, falling back into silence, then looked back over at Will again. He smiled at her, offering a relieved and almost uncertain smile. He still wore the same clothes from last night. There was a bloody smudge on the front of his vest, in the shape of a handprint. Squirrel's handprint.

"I'm sorry," Squirrel said gently, unable to take her eyes from Will's.

Will tilted his head. "What for?" He asked, frowning.

Squirrel gestured with her free hand. "Bleeding on you, when… when you caught me." Squirrel looked down at Will's left boot.

Will himself looked down at his vest, and gently brushed the stain with his fingers. "It doesn't matter," he said softly, not taking his eyes from the smudge. His silence and his unwillingness to meet Squirrel's eyes spoke volumes. They both saw it again in their minds' eyes: _Elizabeth and that pirate, their bodies pressing together, a kiss which bound heart and mind and soul… And betrayed - killed - the ones that loved them…_

Squirrel yelped. Tia wiped another finger of the salve onto one of the strips of paper, and pressed that paper onto the torn skin of Squirrel's hand. Squirrel winced again, and tried to take her hand back.

"Stop squirming," the swamp woman admonished, as though Squirrel were an impatient child, and readied another strip of paper. "You wan' your han' to get bedder or not, Miss Greeh?" She pressed the strip along one of Squirrel's fingers, ignoring the woman's cry of pain. "Deh salve stings, _oui_, chile? Den you know its werkin'."

Will crossed the floor and stood over Squirrel, silently watching, supporting her. Squirrel bit her tongue, choking back her pained cries. She didn't want to sound weak. Not in front of Will.

There were worse pains, after all. A torn-up hand was nothing.

"What are you doing?" Will asked. "What is the paper for?"

"Deh salve helps to keep deh wound clean," Tia said, unfazed by Squirrel's pained grunts and spasms; she continued to work calmly. "Deh paper will 'elp t' bind deh skin together again." Squirrel's palm and fingers were now covered in the salve-covered strips of paper. The task was finally complete. Gently, Tia began to wind the length of bandage back around Squirrel's hand, binding it tight and close, making Squirrel's hand resemble something like a strange glove. "Dere. Is done, Miss Greeh. Ye can stop deh sulkin' now." This was said with something of an impish smile.

Squirrel grunted, in no mood for Tia's good humour. "Now what?" She asked.

Tia raised an eyebrow and rose to her feet. "Now you leave it aloone, and ye git some rest."

"I just woke up," Squirrel frowned, also rising. "I'm not going back to sleep."

Tia looked at Squirrel calmly, then turned to Will. "Why are you 'ere, Will-yam?"

Will blinked, startled by his inclusion back into the conversation. "I… I don't know." He shrugged a little, almost looking to Squirrel but turning his eyes away at the last second. "I…" He stood a little taller, determined. "I came back here to get some answers." He frowned in thought, preparing himself. "How are we…"

"Ye want t' know how you and deh rest of you will be trav'llin' to reach deh ends of deh eart'?" Tia looked knowingly at Will, nearly smiling at the startled expression on his face. "Your dehstiny will teek you to places you would nehver have t'ought you could, would or should eever go…" The swamp woman smiled like a sibyl again, and moved off with a swish of her dress, vanishing behind the curtain.

"Well, that was informative," Squirrel muttered, loud enough for Will to hear. He looked to her, questioning; she looked to him, smirking. When their eyes met, however, both of them lost the expressions they wore, falling instead into a shared awkwardness. A shared knowledge. A shared pain.

"Dere's a ship, deep in deh swamp." Tia's voice called both Squirrel and Will, shaking them out of the depth of their memories. "Kep-ten Barbossa's wid 'er now. In t'ree dees," the sibyl continued, seemingly unaware of what had transpired, "You - all of you - will seel wid deh tide, and begin your seerch."

"Three days?" Squirrel frowned. "Why not straight away?" Her hand strayed to her dagger almost unconsciously. "Why the delay?"

Tia emerged from behind the curtain with an armful of burlap and canvas bags, and ignored Squirrel's questions. "If you cannot sleep," Tia said, handing the bags to Will, "Den teek a boat downstream. You'll see a small cove among deh mangroves. Land dere, den follow deh paat'. You'll come to an orchard. Fruits, mostly."

Outside, the sound of voices interrupted the silent and still morning air. "You're rowin' all zig-zagged!"

"Well, you're rowin' us in circles!"

Squirrel sighed. "Pintel and Ragetti," she murmured, providing an unnecessary commentary; the voices and the content of the argument was distinctive enough.

"Teek dem wid you," Tia said to Will, nodding her head to the door. "Dey'll be able to 'elp you." Tia added with a smile, "Pick howe'er much you can carry, Will-yam, den bring dem all back 'ere to me."

"What about me?" Squirrel interrupted, demanding Tia's attention. Will turned to her, but the dark-skinned woman did not. Squirrel stepped in front of Tia, and repeated, "What about me? What can I do?"

"You steey 'ere."

"No." Squirrel folded her arms, then remembered the wound, so settled to put one hand on her hip instead, the left arm cradled at her stomach. "I'm not going to sit back and do nothing."

"Your hand needs to heal, Miss Grey," Will said softly. "You shouldn't push yourself. I think you should listen to Tia Dalma. For your sake."

"I still have _one_ arm that works," Squirrel argued, softening her voice for Will's sake. She looked to Tia. "Please. I don't… I don't want to be useless." The word felt heavy and flat in her mouth, but it no longer inspired the fear it once did. "I want to do something."

Tia looked long and hard at Squirrel. The swamp woman's gaze was deep and searching. Under such piercing and knowing scrutiny, Squirrel felt as though Tia was looking straight through her, measuring her, weighing her. It was as though Tia were reading Squirrel's very thoughts. It was an unsettling feeling.

Squirrel kept her face carefully innocuous, but her thoughts were anything but. _Get out of my head, witch_!

Finally, Tia reluctantly nodded. "Veery well. But you mus' be back before noon." Tia gestured vaguely, but her eyes were metallic and hard. "Do not be lete." Tia tilted her head and looked sidelong at Will. "Meeke sure she don't 'urt 'erself, Will-yam."

"Of course," Will nodded, looking at Squirrel curiously.

Squirrel nodded to Tia. "Thankyou." Tia just pursed her lips as she turned away, muttering to herself in an unrecognisable language. Squirrel took one of the bags - a satchel - from Will's arms, and put it over her head, settling the bag itself under her bandaged hand. With an exchange of faint smiles, Will and Squirrel left Tia's hut, climbing down the ladder to the waiting longboat, where Pintel and Ragetti still bickered between themselves.

"Are you sure you're up to this?" Will asked once the pair of them were on the small dock.

Squirrel nodded, but she couldn't look Will in the eye. "Morning, boys!" She called, cheerfully, as she swung one-handed down the ladder. The boat on the water rocked as both of the pirates rose to their feet to salute and grin.

"Mornin' Squirrel!" Ragetti called, then yelped as he and his friend nearly lost their balance. They fell back into the boat just before capsizing or toppling.

"Idjit!" Pintel barked.

"That was your fault!"

"My fault?"

"Yeah!"

"No, it weren't! Was yours!"

"Yours!"

Will climbed down after Squirrel. "Maybe we should take the other boat," he murmured softly, jokingly, shifting the bags under his arm.

Squirrel fought with a smile. "Maybe," she murmured back. A one-man coracle was tied to the dock, evidence of how Will had made his way from his sleeping quarters (wherever in the swamp it was) to Tia's home. But the other longboat…

The smile died on Squirrel's face. The other longboat was the same one from the _Black Pearl_. It was tied where it had been left last night.

Will's voice seemed far away as he called to Pintel and Ragetti. "We're going to get supplies for the trip ahead. We need all the help we can get."

"We'll 'elp yeh!" Pintel called back.

In the bottom of the _Pearl_'s longboat lay Squirrel's cloak. Covered in dew from the night mist, it looked like a forgotten child, an abandoned ghost, a sleeping conscience. Squirrel stared at the blue-grey cloth, not knowing what she was thinking. She made no move to collect it - she just stared at the cloak, lost in thought. Lost in what she wasn't thinking about.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder; she jumped and turned, startled from her reverie.

"Coming?" Will asked, holding his hand out to her. Pintel and Ragetti were at the oars, waiting.

Stirring from the waking nightmare, Squirrel took Will's hand, and allowed herself to be helped into the boat. She sat down beside Will, carefully cradling her bandaged hand, and stared off into the distance.


	3. The Sea And The Lash

**Disclaimer**: If I try and take POTC, Mercer will no doubt cut my throat. So I think I'll stay right here for the time being.

**A/N**: Still no AWE spoilers yet, just speculation and creative licence. Feel free to leave a comment about how much you like/hate/don't understand what is going on.

* * *

They found the cove easily enough, but the path was harder to find. The four of them pressed through the thick wet jungle foliage, searching. Pintel and Ragetti cursed and shouted at every step; Will and Squirrel walked quietly, occasionally agreeing with the two pirates but otherwise remaining silent. 

"Here!" Will called, forging through the underbrush to Squirrel's left. "Found it!"

Squirrel pushed at the palms and ferns and vines, her skin crawling every time moist foliage slapped at her skin. The wet tendrils of the plants reminded her too closely of the Kraken's arms. She could swear she felt something crawling down her back that wasn't a cold chill of fear.

"About time!" Pintel grumbled. He looked around. "What kind of grub are we looking for?"

Squirrel pointed to one of the trees, nearly indistinguishable from the rest in the forest. "Here. Papayas." Sure enough, the fruit was noticeable between the branches and the wide spread of leaves.

"There's plenty here," Will noted, his voice calm. "It might be best if we took only the fruit we can reach. There's no point in climbing." It seemed as though the warning he gave was general, but Squirrel knew it was meant for her.

She did not answer, and focused her attention instead on the trees, on the fruits she could recognise. "Guava, breadfruit, plantain, passion fruit, banana…" Squirrel forced a smile. "We're going to be busy!" She turned to Pintel and Ragetti. "Why don't you start over there," she pointed further down the path, "And work your way back? We'll start here and meet you in the middle."

"Right!" The two pirates grabbed some of the bags and took off through the trees, already betting on who was going to collect the most. Their voices could still be heard through the trees, but faintly. Will and Squirrel were alone in the silence of the forest.

Will started for the papayas, reaching up into the branches and plucking the fruit. Squirrel turned her back on him, and startled plucking passion fruits off of the vines which hugged the towering jungle trees. After a moment, both of them abandoned pretence, and faced each other.

"You don't have to come if you don't want to." Will said, something like guilt in his eyes.

"You shouldn't pretend it didn't happen." Squirrel said, her tone harder than it should have been.

Will slipped a papaya into the bag without taking his eyes from Squirrel. "I'm not pretending," he said, an edge to his words. "I know very well what I saw." He looked to Squirrel. "What we saw."

Squirrel folded her left arm to her stomach, cradling her hand. "Yes, Will. What _we_ saw. What _happened_." She kicked at the soil, hating the poison that flowed in her veins and rekindled that hated image in her mind. "We were _both_ betrayed."

Will's mouth twisted in what might have been considered jealous anger had not it been paired with eyes full of pain and resignation.

"You know what surprises me the most about this, Will?" Squirrel asked, adjusting the satchel she wore. "It's not that we're being lead by a dead man. It's not that we're going on a quest to bring another dead man back to life." She shrugged. "I'm sure the shock of that will settle in later, when I don't feel so numb about… all this." Will looked up at Squirrel, his eyes darkening. "What surprises me the most about this venture," Squirrel continued flatly, "Was that you suggested it in the first place."

Will straightened, a satchel held loosely in one hand. His eyes were hurt, defensive, angry. "What are you talking about? This wasn't my idea…"

"I seem to recall you saying 'if there was anything that could be done'." Squirrel's eyes smouldered. "You're the one who wanted this. You're the one who wanted to make this foolish voyage."

"So what if I do?" Will threw down the bag and turned on Squirrel, venting his anger. "Is it foolish of me to want something for someone else, Miss Grey? Is it foolish to want to save the life of the man who ruined my life? If it means that I won't ever see Elizabeth cry again… then I'll do it, and to hell with the consequences!" Will slowly leant against a tree, suddenly weary and defeated. "I am a fool," he whispered. "But I can't stand to see her miserable."

Squirrel had been unfazed by Will's anger, but his helplessness had touched her. She gingerly crossed to him, and rested a cautious hand on his shoulder. "I understand." She sighed. "I don't blame you."

"I want her to be happy," Will whispered, staring at his hands. "Even if it means she's not… happy… with me…" His hands clenched into fists; fists which fell helplessly to his side.

Squirrel closed her eyes, and saw that pirate again. His cocky smile, his drunken swagger, his golden smile, his kohl-rimmed eyes. _I wanted to be happy. I wanted to be happy with him. But I never will be. Because he doesn't love me. Never has, never will_. _And now I am all alone_.

"Are you going to tell her?" Squirrel whispered.

"Tell her what?" Will said, bitterness creeping into his voice. "Tell her I know what she did? What good will that do? She's unhappy enough as it is. I'm not going to add to her pain." Will sighed heavily; Squirrel could almost hear his heart breaking again. "I still love her."

Squirrel sighed, leaning her head against the vines, a passion flower vivid and innocent near her face. "Ah, Will… We're a fine pair broken hearts, the two of us."

Will sighed, nodding. "I know." He shook his head, his hair falling forward into his face.

"Birds of a feather, William." Squirrel said gently. She plucked the passion flower between her fingers.

That almost brought a smile to his face. "Yes. We are, Miss Grey."

"Call me Squirrel. Please."

The two of them stood in silence for a moment, listening to the sounds of the jungle. Then Will rose to his feet again.

"We'll have to keep going." He said firmly, rallying his strength. "We've both decided to continue on this voyage, so we'd best keep our word." He looked down at the ground, and kicked at it in a muted show of anger. "Even if it is a farce."

"So what are we to do about it?"

Will frowned, turning. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said, what are we to do about it, William?" She smelled the blossom, inhaling the scent. Her eyes locked on Will's, held him, drew him towards her. "What are we going to do?"

Will's frown deepened. Squirrel was caught by how much Will had changed since she'd met him. He'd set foot on the _Black Pearl_ a youth, but now stood before her… a man. Two things remained unchanged about him, beneath the grief and regret and the heartbreak. His honour and integrity. They shone like beacons through his eyes, despite the pain that was evident in his heart.

"We're going on a quest to bring a dead man back to life," Squirrel said matter-of-factly, spinning the flower between her fingers. "We're going to sail to the ends of the earth. But after we have our old captain back…" She looked at Will, as innocent as the flower but with a callousness in her brown eyes. "What then?"

Will's face took on a stubborn, harsh cast. "I don't know."

Squirrel tossed the flower down, and ground it into the mud with a vengeful stab of her foot. "Neither do I, William." She looked up at him, smiling falsely. "But I'm sure we'll both know when the time comes." Squirrel knelt down and picked up a rock. She hefted it in her hand, checking the weight, then threw it. Hard. It thudded and ricocheted off the papaya tree's main branch. But several yellow fruits, dislodged by the stone, fell heavily to the forest floor. Squirrel smiled benignly, then turned back to Will.

"The compass has more that one point, William. There's no telling how this journey will end." She crossed the forest floor and knelt to pick up the fallen papayas, sliding them into the bag she wore. "It could end well for one of us, foul for the other. There could be a good ending, or bad ending, for the pair of us." _It's all in the points of the compass_.

"I repeat what I said earlier," Will said gently, collecting the fallen papayas with her. "You don't have to come if you don't want to. And you don't seem to have any reason or desire to come."

"I may not _want_ to bring this pirate back to life," Squirrel said coolly, "I may not want any part of this quest, but I have to come, regardless."

Will paused, frowning in a strange manner - it almost looked like he was suspicious. "Why's that?"

Squirrel looked to Will. Of all the answers churning in her thoughts, one alone stood out. One honest answer to give to a man who deserved such honesty. "Because I have nowhere else to go," she said simply. "The _Pearl_ was my home, and now it's gone. I can't go back; I've nowhere else to go but forward."

"But what about Jack?" Will tilted his head to one side, watching her curiously.

Squirrel felt a cold chill creep down her back again. She shrugged. "As I said, William, we'll all know what to do when the time comes."

"Do you still love him?"

Squirrel looked up at Will, her eyes wide with pain and guilt and anger and heartbreak and pity and too much to tell. Will was startled - he moved forward to comfort Squirrel, his arms wide and his eyes sorrowful and sympathetic - but Squirrel turned aside, heading back to the passion fruit vines. Her right hand feverishly plucked at the fruit, stuffing each of them violently into the bag at her side.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"We should be going," Squirrel said, brusque and pained. "Where are the others?"

Sudden shouts and yelps heralded the pirates - cries which told of alarm and danger. Will drew his sword, while Squirrel crouched and flipped her dagger into her hand. The two of them exchanged glances.

"The cannibals?" Will hissed, alert.

Squirrel glanced around. The silence of the jungle - broken only by the cries of Pintel and Ragetti - suddenly seemed less peaceful and more threatening. "Tia," Squirrel spat the name, half to herself. The voodoo witch had sent them out here, right into the Pelegostas' territory. She'd sent them out to be captured and killed… _But where's the sense in that?_

Pintel and Ragetti barrelled through the trees, yelping and swearing and brushing at themselves. They ran right past Will, past Squirrel, not even noticing them. Their course was clear enough, though - they weren't heading for the boat. They were heading for the beach.

Will and Squirrel waited, blades readied, but there was no sound of pursuit. After a moment, Will lowered his sword, and Squirrel her dagger. They exchanged puzzled glances.

"What was that about?" Squirrel frowned, moving past Will into the trees, looking where the two pirates had run from, and then back through the trees, where they had vanished. She was about to turn back when she heard Will draw breath.

"Miss Grey, you're bleeding!"

_Oh, hell_. Squirrel felt colour flood her face. _Now? Did it have to happen to me RIGHT now?_ Embarrassed, she turned around, trying to cover up the back of her leggings. But Will was staring at Squirrel's left shoulder. Frowning, Squirrel turned her attention there. Sure enough, there was blood coursing down her shoulder. And a big fat worm gorging itself on the open wound.

Squirrel yelped and clawed at it, disgusted and alarmed. But the leech would not be dislodged. Squirrel looked up at Will, not knowing what to do.

"Salt water," he suggested, finding a leech on his neck and pulling a disgusted face, "Head for the beach."

Squirrel nodded, then pushed through the trees, following Pintel and Ragetti. So that's why they had been running. The leeches had gotten to them too. Stifling her own cries of disgust, Squirrel ran, finding more of the dark black worms on her arms and legs. And, judging from the cold chill still running down her spine, there were some on her back as well.

"Ah, hell!" She burst through the foliage and barrelled down the beach. As she neared the water, she hopped on one foot, then the other, as she kicked off her shoes and peeled off her socks, flinging them haphazardly down the beach. A few determined leeches clung to her ankles; one was dislodged to writhe in the burning sand. Barefoot, Squirrel ran down to the water.

Pintel and Ragetti looked up, wide-eyed, as they saw Squirrel heading for the water, undoing the buttons of her shirt with one hand. Squirrel pursed her lips with distaste, but continued to fumble with her shirt. She knew what they expected to see, and they were sadly disappointed - under the shirt she wore her sailor's vest. Tossing her shirt aside - and unbuckling and laying down her belt with it's attachments with a little more care - Squirrel reached the water's edge. And there she stopped, frozen, unable to go any further.

The sea stretched out before her, a wide unwalkable marble floor, a boundless frothing mass. It stretched on forever, touching every continent of land, every island, archipelago, reef, beach. The world was not connected by the sea - the world _was_ the sea. Land just got in the way. The sea was huge. Vast. Immense. Deep. Unfathomable. It was everywhere. It was everything.

Squirrel's breath caught in her throat as she saw those snakes rise up in her mind's eye; she could feel the crushing embrace of the Kraken closing around her again. Those cold, crushing merciless depths of the sea washed over her… She'd been embraced by the sea before. She'd fallen. She'd near drowned. But someone had pulled her out, saving her. There would be no-one to save her if she fell this time. Because this time, the sea wanted her with a jealousy that was almost palpable. It would drag her down and it would not let her go. She could see Davy Jones' merciless bitter eyes boring into her, could hear his voice. _Join my crew…_

"Squirrel?"

Squirrel yelped as someone laid a hand on her shoulder - she whirled, staggering back. The sea nipped at her heels, and she jumped away, yelping again. Even the gentle pull of the waves seemed like little grasping hands, reminding her of her fears.

"I can't swim," she nearly gulped out the words. Will looked at her, concerned. He'd shrugged off his jacket, belt and boots, and had thrown them behind him, and was undoing his vest. Squirrel dragged her eyes away, and looked back out over the sea. It seemed so calm now, but Squirrel had seen what lurked below its depths. The sea wasn't calm - it was _waiting_.

"I'm sorry," Will said gently. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Squirrel waited until the tide had retreated from her feet, then reached down and picked up a handful of moist sand. The wet sand was enough to make the leeches on her arm twitch and sizzle, and drop off. Squirrel hissed, holding back her sailor's tongue as the abandoned wounds dripped blood on her clothing. Even without the worms, her blood was being leeched from her.

"What about the ones on your back?" Will asked, asking gently, examining the bloody handprint on his vest briefly before he tossed it down. "You won't be able to reach those yourself."

"I'll be fine," Squirrel said shortly.

"I could teach you. How to swim, I mean."

Squirrel looked up at Will, snorting, but there was no ego in his expression, no disparagement at her inability to swim. There was honesty there. He meant what he said.

Squirrel shook her head mutely, silently amazed. "I can't."

"I won't let anything happen to you." Will said. His eyes were steady and trustworthy. "I promise."

The sea brushed at her feet, the waves hissing as they retreated. Squirrel shook her head again.

"I can't get my hand wet," she said, scrambling for excuses. "Tia…"

Will peeled off his shirt, throwing it aside, and stood bare-chested in the sunlight. His body was lean and strong and bronzed. Squirrel flushed, trying to look away. To Will's credit, he was a handsome young man. Squirrel bit her lip to keep herself from staring.

"You don't have to worry about that." Will held his hand out. "Don't worry."

Squirrel looked at Will's hand, uncertain and unsure. She looked down the beach, at the forgotten clothes she and Will had shed. Pintel and Ragetti were leaving the water, shaking the salt from their hair and watching curiously. She looked to Will again, trying not to let her eyes wander along the curves of his muscles. The sea hissed at her toes, pulling the sand from beneath her feet. It wanted to topple her. It wanted to drown her.

Taking a breath, Squirrel nodded, and took Will's hand. Smiling, he led her into the sea.

As the water climbed higher - her ankles, her calves, her knees, her thighs, her waist - Squirrel gasped and flinched, squeezing Will's hand tighter. To his credit, he didn't pull away or wince at her grip. He just guided her, holding her steady. When the water reached to Squirrel's stomach, Will stopped. Squirrel tried to master her breath - it came hard and heavy, fearful and stressed.

"Alright," Will said gently, "First thing's first. You should get those leeches off of you."

With her mind awhirl, Squirrel started to babble. "There was a p-pirate aboard the _Pearl_, before you found us. An Indian, Leech. N-never liked him. Now I know why. S-selfish, like his name. He died here. Fell b-behind." The waves pushed at her, cold and relentless.

"Take a deep breath," Will instructed, his voice calm and kind, "Then bend your knees."

"N-no… I-I-I c-can't!"

"I won't let you go," Will soothed, taking Squirrel's left hand in both of his. "Just bend your knees so that the water comes up to your neck. Hold your left arm above your head so the bandages don't get wet."

"W-what about my hair?"

Will locked eyes with her, standing in the deeper water in front of her. "Squirrel."

Once again, as on the day that the Kraken had taken the Pearl, Squirrel found herself commanded by the way Will said her name. She took a breath in and out, surprised at how shaky her breath sounded. Holding on tight to Will's hand, she slowly lowered herself into the water. Blood billowed around her, washing off of her, and the bodies of the leeches dissolved in the salt, sizzling. Squirrel felt the water rise to her neck, and screwed her eyes shut tight. The water was closing in on her, trying to pull her down, and she was raising her white bandaged hand in surrender… If it wasn't for Will holding onto her hand, she would have surely panicked and fled. Or fallen, and been lost.

"Straighten your knees."

Squirrel rose out of the water, gasping and shaking slightly. Her hair and her clothes clung to her, but she didn't care. She was still breathing. She was fine.

"Well done," Will smiled encouragingly. The leech on his neck was gone - he must have washed it off while she'd had her eyes closed. "You know what the first step of learning how to swim is?"

"N-n-no."

"Getting in the water." Squirrel laughed, even though the joke was a poor one. Will's smile broadened. "But," he added, "Seeing as you can't get your other hand wet…" He let go of Squirrel, and walked back to stand beside her. "Keep your eyes on me," he said, his voice firm, solid as a rock. His eyes held her, drew her, quelled her fear and stopped her from falling.

Squirrel stood on the sand, water up to her waist, and was not afraid. For, in her mind, she was standing on far more sturdy stuff.

"Now," Will said, standing to her right. "A basic stroke." He motioned his arms through the air, one at a time. One reached forward, the other back. A fluid motion, he reached forward, his arms slowing through the air. "Follow me. Do what I'm doing."

Clumsily, Squirrel mimicked him. She reached, clawing at the air, then draw her arms back, fast and flailing.

"Slow down," he said, smiling and dodging her wild arms. "Use your hands to scoop, like this." He demonstrated. "Pull the water - the air, rather - towards you." He continued the strokes of his arm, sure and graceful. Gradually, Squirrel fell into the same pattern with him. Their arms went up, reached forward, pulled back, in the same slowly rhythm. Like the wings of birds flying in tandem. Slowly, Squirrel found her breathing becoming steady, rising and falling with each stroke of her arms.

"When your hand's better," Will said, stopping suddenly, throwing Squirrel out of sync, "I'll teach you how to swim properly. It's just not the same when you're not in the water." He smiled, his eyes warm. Squirrel smiled back at him, grateful. She surreptitiously splashed water on her face, remembering what she'd seen in the mirror that morning.

Will started climbing out of the water, heading back for the beach. "Come on. We'd better go. It'll be nearly noon by the time we get back, and you don't want Tia to be mad at you."

Squirrel smiled, and followed after him. But, walking behind Will, she caught sight of something that made her catch her breath. Five long thin lines marred his otherwise smooth back. "Will, what happened to you?"

Will looked over his shoulder, alarmed. "What?"

Squirrel reached out, her fingers gently brushing the scars on Will's back. Will flinched from her fingers, though more from her touch than from pain. The wounds had healed recently; they were nothing but scars now.

"You look like you've been flogged," Squirrel said, horrified. _But, not as badly as you could have been…_

Will looked back at Squirrel, all the mirth in his eyes gone. His eyes were dark and saddened now. He turned away and left the water, emerging up on the beach. Biting her lip, Squirrel ran after him.

"Will?"

"It happened when I was on the _Dutchman_," Will said, stooping to pick up his discarded clothes. He looked back to Squirrel, eyes flat and hard. "Five lashes. My father did it."

"Wot?" Pintel came up, wrinkling his nose. "Five lashes?"

"That don't sound loike sumfin' ol' Bootstrap would do," Ragetti added, perplexed.

Will looked over at the two of them as he pulled his shirt over his head. "I didn't know he was aboard. And he didn't know I was, either. Until he saw me. We…" Will sighed, dropping the jacket and vest over one arm, lost in the memory. "They called for Mister Turner, and we both answered. One of us was meant to secure a line, but we…" Will shrugged, bitter. "Five lashes for my incompetence."

Squirrel stared, dismayed. "And your father…"

"Was forced to. It was either him or the Bo'sun," Will said, looking back to Squirrel, almost accusatory in his glance.

"Well," Pintel said, wanting to put the matter to rest, "If Davy's Bo'sun was anything like the _Pearl_'s old Bo'sun…" Ragetti shivered, agreeing with his friend.

"Apparently," Will said darkly, "The Bo'sun could - and would - cleave flesh from bone with every strike of the lash." Squirrel winced, remembering a common sight on Tortuga's shores - men with gashes on their back through which bones and organs could be seen. Men who often died that same day from the wounds festering, or from the blood loss.

"Then you were lucky that your father did it," Ragetti added, his wooden eye rolling back in his skull, uneasily.

"Luck had nothing to do with it," Squirrel said softly. Will looked to her, eyebrow raised sardonically.

"My father didn't have a choice. Davy Jones ordered him to."

"Well," Pintel scratched his head, "You gotta admit it was a fine coincidence that ol' Bill was aboard the _Dutchman_…"

"No coincidence, either," Squirrel said, matching Will's gaze.

Will looked at Squirrel evenly, then turned away. "We have to get back." He stooped down and picked up Squirrel's belt and handed it to her, hardly looking at her. He left the other three behind, striding off alone with his thoughts.

Squirrel clumsily retied her belt, balancing one end with her bandaged hand as Will marched up the beach. Even the most simple of tasks - dressing herself - was near impossible. With an embarrassed hiss, Squirrel finally managed to fasten the belt. She looked up, pleased with that small victory, and saw Pintel and Ragetti looking at her. She caught their gazes lingering where their gazes had no business to be. Her clothes were clinging to her from the water, and like all pirates, these two were taking what they could before the opportunity passed them by. Squirrel scowled.

"What are you lookin' at?" She asked, a harshness in her voice making the two of them look aside guiltily. Squirrel turned away and started walking. As she, Pintel and Ragetti headed back up the beach, following Will's footsteps, Squirrel stooped and picked up the rest of the clothes she'd dropped. There was no time to put them on, so she merely carried them.

The sunshine seemed to have gone out of the day. Will's storm of a mood was contagious.

**

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A/N:** As always, suggestions and comments are much welcomed. Don't like what's happening? Confused about something? Want to talk to me? Press that review button and let me know! 


	4. Mark Of A Woman

**Disclaimer**: Rescind your claim, or it's the gallows for you, my dear.

**A/N**: Squirrel is mine, and, as of now, everything that happens is my fault. Later on, when the spoilers start creeping in, I shall be free of such responsibilities. Sort of.

* * *

Will sat in the boat, fingering a dagger, his eyes distant, as Pintel and Ragetti rowed the longboat back upstream. Bags of fruit lay around their feet. There'd been no further misadventures with leeches when the four of them had collected them. Some of the collected fruit had been sampled by the four of them, an impromptu breakfast for the journey back. Their hunger sated, they simply sat in silence. Squirrel sat beside Will, watching the glint of the dagger. She knew the cause for his distraction. 

"We'll get your father back, Will."

Will looked at her. "What?"

"We'll get him back," Squirrel said, steadfast and sure. She looked to Will, her eyes holding his, no trace of doubt to be found. "We'll free your father."

Will just snorted, and looked down at his dagger. "My father saved my life," he murmured, his voice almost lost amid the birdcalls of the swamp and the sound of the oars. "He offered to take the punishment, but Davy Jones wouldn't let him. I swore I'd set my father free. I told him I wouldn't rest until this dagger pierced the heart of Davy Jones. I swore I wouldn't rest until he was _free_."

"You'll keep your promise," Squirrel said, frankly. "But you won't do it alone."

Will looked up at Squirrel, surprised. That same near-suspicious look from the fruit grove came into his eyes, but he said nothing.

"I'll help you, William." Squirrel's voice and eyes were steadfast. She reached out. Will's right hand was closed around the hilt of the dagger - Squirrel's hand closed over his, gripping it tight. "I swear it. I'll help you free your father, or die trying." She looked deep into Will's eyes, seeing the same mirror she'd seen before. "Come hell or high water, I swear I will do everything in my power to help you free him."

Will blinked, surprised at the seriousness of Squirrel's pledge. "Thankyou," he said, after a moment. Squirrel nodded, then withdrew her hand, turning her eyes away at only the last second. Her hand was strangely warm, and her fingers tingled.

"Count us in too," Pintel said, hauling on his oar.

"Yeah," Ragetti said, "Anyfin' for ol' Bill."

Will raised an eyebrow and gave a humourless snort of laughter. "I thought you called him a 'stupid blighter'."

"That's in the past," Pintel amended with an awkward cough. "We was different men back then."

"Yeah," Ragetti added. "We ain't cursed no mo'. An' 'e was a good man, aye?"

"Aye, that's right!"

"The weather changes so quickly," Squirrel murmured to herself, staring off into the trees. She gently stroked the bandages of her left hand, an absent motion born of distant thoughts. She'd managed to put her shirt back on, and the dampness from her vest and hair was gradually darkening the cloth. Not that it mattered. Squirrel's bare feet tapped the planking gently, a song she unconsciously held in her mind.

"Is your 'and any better?" Ragetti asked, is concern breaking the silence.

Squirrel looked to the pirate, and nodded. "I think so." She examined the bandaged limb. "It's hard to tell. Tia says it'll take a few weeks to heal."

"Oh." Ragetti pulled on the oar a moment, then added, "Well, at least it'll heal, right?"

Squirrel snorted, nodding. "Aye. Eventually."

"'Ere we are," Pintel said, stilling his oar. Ragetti did the same. Will stood and stepped out of the longboat, tying it to the dock, then reached out his hand for Squirrel. His hand steadied her, helped her maintain her balance, the same on land as in the sea.

"Thankyou." Squirrel whispered. Will nodded, saying nothing. But his courtesy did not end with Squirrel safely standing on the dock. He even reached back to collect Squirrel's shoes. Pintel and Ragetti stayed in the boat, setting the bags of fruit on the dock.

"Weel-com back." Tia stood on the small balcony, looking down at the small party. "You foun' deh orchard well enough?"

"You could have warned us about the leeches," Squirrel called up at the swamp woman.

Pursing her lips, Tia's eyes narrowed. "Ah. So dat's why you're all wet."

A quick glance passed between Squirrel and Will. Squirrel started to climb the ladder, her left arm cradled. Awkward as her ascension was, she wanted no help from anyone. Will waited behind her, Squirrel's shoes under one arm.

"Mistah Tur-nah," Tia's voice purred as soon as Squirrel had heaved herself upright, "Could I ask dat you and your frien's go back to deh orchard? We'll need much more for deh voyage we're teekin'." Squirrel - standing next to Tia at the balcony - looked down to Will, frowning. Will glanced at her, clearly wondering the same thing.

"What about Squirrel?" Will asked. "Is she coming with us?"

"She's going t' steey 'ere." Tia said, prompting Squirrel's frown to change its focus and deepen.

Will frowned curiously back at the swamp woman, but nodded. "Very well." He left Squirrel's shoes on the dock, then turned and got back into the boat. Pintel and Ragetti exchanged glances, shrugged, and then rowed off. Will looked back once - just once - and his gaze met Squirrel's over the water. The boat was gone quickly. Too quickly, it seemed, lost around the bend and through the trees. Tia turned and went back inside, and Squirrel followed her, scowling.

"Since when do _you_ decide what I'm allowed to do?"

Tia looked back, amused. "You need to steey 'ere, Miss Greeh."

"I don't see why." Squirrel snapped, putting her right hand on her hip.

Tia sighed, smiling, and turned back to Squirrel, a bundle of rags in her hands. "Really?"

Squirrel gritted her teeth. "I fainted last night because I hadn't eaten, and I was out in the sun! Nothing food, water, and rest won't cure. And I got all of that last night and this morning." She held up her bandaged hand. "And this is healing. You said so yourself." She snorted. "I'm fine. I _can_ do things with only one hand. I'm not crippled."

Tia considered Squirrel patiently, an infuriating smile playing about her lips. "Dere is a-nudder reason why you are 'ere, Miss Greeh." She passed Squirrel the bundle of cloths, then pointed to a small door. "Go. You'll see soon enough."

Squirrel stood perplexed a moment, then with a sigh decided to humour the woman. Behind the door was a lavatory. With a sinking gut, Squirrel realised what Tia had been implying. And - a moment later - what she'd been right about.

"Bloody hell!"

Tia looked up as Squirrel re-emerged from the small room, tactfully ignoring the indignantly embarrassed look on Squirrel's face. "Is not'in' to be asheemed of, Miss Greeh. Happens to all of us. Is deh mark of a woo-man."

"It's a curse it's what it is," Squirrel muttered, embarrassed. Surreptitiously, she adjusted the seat of her pants.

"Hrm," Tia looked away, hiding a smile. "Maybe."

Squirrel stood awkwardly for a moment, not knowing what to say. "You knew, didn't you? You knew my…" She looked aside, embarrassed, "'Woman's curse'… was due. That's why you wanted me back by noon."

"An' why we're weetin' for t'ree dees a'fore we seel." Tia shrugged, but her cat-like smile remained in place. "After t'ree dees you'll be in a better 'umour, and not so much pain. Not to mention deh fact mos' of deh crew is men, and you will need all deh time to yerself dat you ken get." She smiled that smile once again. "Yeer welcome."

Squirrel stared, incredulous. "How did you know?"

Tia just smiled, baring her indigo-stained teeth knowingly. "Come," she said, heading for the door, "Dere's somethin' I want you t' see." Tia paused at the doorway, sweeping her arm back. "_Apres vous_." Squirrel looked at her warily before heading out first. Once again, she had to negotiate the ladder one-handed and gracelessly, but she did so without so much of a word of complaint.

Two solemn-faced young men stood waist-deep in the water, waiting. Their silent watchful faces - in addition to their presence - startled Squirrel, though she didn't show it.

Tia, an empress in a gown of rags and tatters, climbed down with all the grace that Squirrel lacked, and made her way to Will's coracle. The two silent men took the ropes of the small boat, and waited.

"Come, Miss Greeh," Tia said, adjusting the folds of her dress as she sat down. "Leave your shoes. You won't nee'dem." The swamp woman's own feet were bare, and decorated with anklets of beads and multi-coloured string. Feet which looked accustomed to traversing the mud and the mangroves; the feet of a swamp witch.

Gingerly, Squirrel crossed the dock and sat down with Tia, and the two men started pulling the coracle through the swamp. Tia looked out over the water, smiling benevolently at every tree and figure that watched silently, a queen of her domain; Squirrel stared at her bandaged hand, face closed and almost sullen. The two women remained silent, but their expressions spoke enough for the both of them.

* * *

"We're 'ere." 

Squirrel lifted her eyes, and saw a man in black standing alone on a platform over the water. Barbossa stood with his back to the approaching craft, hands clasped behind him, staring into the mangroves. The two silent men who had been leading the coracle tied it to the platform's edge, then left. It was almost as if they had vanished into the shadows of the trees. Look as she might, Squirrel could not discern where they'd gone.

"Good dee, kep-ten," Tia said, stepping lightly out of the coracle and onto the wooden platform. Squirrel followed with less grace, her arm held close to her.

Barbossa turned, his expression genial. He made a small bow. "Good day, ladies." Squirrel made a half-bow back, feeling the thrill go down her spine once more just from being in the man's presence. Something about this man - his power, his charisma, or even his eyes, perhaps - called to her. Steadied her. Made her feel safe.

In the trees, the monkey screeched and leapt down to perch on Tia's shoulder. The swamp woman scratched the animal's head absently. "I brought Miss Greeh to see deh ship."

Squirrel lifted her eyes, her interest peaked. "The ship?"

Barbossa smiled proudly. "Aye." He turned back and stared into the trees. "She's a beauty, in't she?"

Squirrel peered through the foliage. "There's a ship somewhere in there?" She frowned. "Where?"

"Right here." Barbossa reached out his hand, and pushed at a tree-trunk covered in vines. The entire tree rocked under Barbossa's hand - a whole section of the trees swayed, dislodging dead leaves and branches. "It's only a clipper," the pirate captain said offhandedly, "But it'll more'n serve our purpose."

Squirrel stared, disbelieving. The small ship was nearly completely hidden by the mangrove forest. It was as though the trees themselves had grown around the craft to hide it. Curious and awed, Squirrel moved closer, her bare feet making no sound on the wooden platform. Now that she looked, she could see it. The planking of the craft was covered in moss and plant life, and shrouded by drooping branches and vines, but there was no denying the fact that the ship was there. She reached out and touched the cold slime-covered hull.

"May take a few days to clean up and make ready for a voyage, though," Barbossa mused aloud for Squirrel's benefit.

"How long?" Squirrel asked, turning back to Tia and Barbossa. "How long 'til it's ready?"

Barbossa frowned, thoughtful, though the smile never left his eyes. "Three days might do it," he said.

Squirrel looked to Tia sharply. "Three days?"

Tia smiled benignly back at her. "Don' look for coincidences where dey don' exist, Miss Greeh." Squirrel's eyes darkened. The monkey on Tia's shoulder leapt back to Barbossa, and the captain looked curiously between the two women.

"Somethin' the matter?" He asked, a perceptive look in his ice-blue eyes.

Squirrel shook her head. "No," she said, forcing a half-smile. "Three days is fine."

"Ah," Barbossa tilted his head and grinned. "You want to be on the way all the sooner, aye?"

Squirrel hid her clenched fist behind her back. "Why not?" Her words were flippant and light, but inside she was screaming. Three days was too long, and not enough. The monkey on Barbossa's shoulder chattered, bobbing in place. Barbossa soothed it absently, not taking his eyes from Squirrel's. Under such a scrutiny, it was hard for Squirrel not to squirm. Did he know what she was hiding?

"Deh odders will be 'ere shortly," Tia said, craning her head back and staring into the trees. "Dey'll help yeh get her free, kep-ten."

The captain in black nodded, and turned back to the hidden clipper. "Once the _Artemis_ is cleaned up and ready to sail, she'll be a sight to see."

Squirrel looked to Barbossa, curious. "The _Artemis_?"

Barbossa grinned, and pointed. Squirrel's eyes followed his gesture, and found the lettering along the hull. Though nearly obscured by moss and slime, the ship's name was unmistakable. The buxom figurehead - a third life size - stared stubbornly with sightless wooden eyes out at the horizon. She clutched a bow tightly in one hand, readying an arrow to fire. She did not seem to be happy about her imprisonment, and seemed impatient to be freed. The _Artemis_ didn't care about the coating of green moss, because she knew it would peel off in the salt water. She just wanted to go, already. Somewhere. Anywhere. Anywhere but here.

Squirrel found herself almost smiling. She liked this ship already.

"Come, Miss Greeh," Tia said, heading back to the coracle. "We need t' cheenge your bandages."

Squirrel turned to Barbossa, bowing slightly. "Good day, captain."

Barbossa smiled back, and nodded in return. "Good day, Miss." He looked back to the trees, where the _Artemis_ lay hidden, and smiled thoughtfully to himself.

Squirrel stepped into the coracle, sitting down opposite Tia. The two dark men emerged from the trees silently, and started to lead the coracle back through the swamp to Tia's hut.

"Where did you find the clipper?"

Tia smiled beatifically at Squirrel. "Deh tide brings many t'ings to my door, Miss Greeh, ships and sailors not being deh least of dem." The sibyl fingered the golden heart-shaped amulet at her throat absently as she looked out at the trees.

Squirrel reached up to touch her own amulet out of habit, but was reminded of its absence as her fingers found its replacement. The diamonds of bone - or fossilised wood, or stone, whatever they were - had warmed to her skin, clinging to her, like guilt or doubt. Squirrel lifted the amulet from her skin, dropped it, picked it up again and dropped it again. The weight of the necklace thudded against her skin like a heartbeat. Like the heartbeat she could no longer feel. Slipping the necklace back under the neck of her shirt, Squirrel looked back to the swamp witch. "Did you and Barbossa agree to wait three days?"

Tia laughed softly. "I said not t' look fer coincidences," the swamp woman smiled. "No. We did not. Deh kep-ten's decision was made indehpendent to mine." Tia looked at Squirrel, as though reading what Squirrel was thinking. Squirrel looked away before the black diamonds of Tia's eyes could delve too deeply. "You will 'ave deh chance t' talk t' deh captain soon, to ask him all dose questions which be bodderin' you."

Squirrel looked out over the water. "Questions aren't bothering me."

Tia's eyes were deep and fathomless. "No? Well, den… It must be your t'oughts, your memories, which are plaguin' you so." The coracle reached the dock, and Tia stepped out, leaving Squirrel to sit and stare. "Am I wrong? No, I'm not. I ken see it in your eyes." Tia looked over her shoulder as she picked up Squirrel's shoes. "You're not t'inkin', Miss Greeh. You're just… livin'. You're just bein'."

"There are some things," Squirrel said evenly, as she climbed out of the coracle, "That I'd rather not think about." The two men lead the coracle away, vanishing into the shadows of the trees.

Tia nodded at Squirrel, her eyes empathetic, her gaze perceptive. "So you t'ink on not'ing, or force your t'oughts away from deh pain."

For the first time since the Kraken sunk the _Pearl_, Squirrel felt a stab of something. Whatever it was, it was an ache she quickly quashed. "You don't know me. Don't pretend that you do."

Tia sighed, then started climbing the ladder. "Not t'inkin' about what 'appened en't goin' to change deh fact dat it's 'appened, Miss Greeh."

For a moment, Squirrel felt cold. Tia knew so much about everything else - did she know about… about _that pirate_'s… final betrayal? Did Tia know about why Squirrel had chosen to come on this foolish quest? Surely not. No-one knew that. Slowly, warily, Squirrel climbed up the ladder. Tia was waiting for her at the top.

"Miss Greeh, I don' want t' tell you 'ow you should live your life," she stretched out a hand to Squirrel, her eyes burdened, "But you can't live like dis. Shoulderin' deh pain won't mek you stronger. It will only 'urt you deh more."

Squirrel ignored Tia's hand, electing to pull herself up. "I'm fine."

"No, yer not." Tia looked deep into Squirrel's eyes. "An' sayin' dat you are is not'in' but a lie."

Squirrel looked flatly at Tia. "I thought you said you wanted to change the bandages on my hand."

Tia sighed wearily. "Dat's not deh only healin' you need, Miss Greeh," she said, handing Squirrel back her shoes.

"You're right. Do you have any of that ragout left? I'm hungry."

Tia sighed again, this time with less patience in her eyes. "You'll 'ave to acknowledge it somedee, Miss Greeh. You can't pretend not'ing's wrong forever." She turned and went inside.

Squirrel remained out on the balcony, staring out over the water. Tia's insights were not incorrect. Squirrel _wasn't_ fine. She'd been forcing herself to think about other things. In the orchard, when she'd spoken with Will… that had been the only time she'd acknowledged what had happened. The only time she'd been honest with herself. She'd been betrayed, her heart had broken, and now she didn't want to think about it because thinking about it just made her remember the hurt she'd felt. But Tia had been wrong about one thing.

Squirrel wasn't in pain. Not anymore.

"When the _Pearl_ sank," Squirrel said, loud enough for Tia to hear, "I lost everything. It was my home." Squirrel stared out over the water; Tia waited behind the closed door, just inside her home, listening. Squirrel continued, being honest about this much, at least. "I lost my clothes, my notes, my ink and quill, my candles, my mirror, my bottle of lavender oil…" A wry smile kicked at the comer of her mouth, "My best stockings…" Squirrel turned and looked Tia dead in the eye through the gauze screen. "Is it foolish of me to be thinking about the things I've lost? About those small, unimportant items… rather than what really happened?"

Tia pushed and held the door wide. "Is your way of dealin' wid deh grief," she murmured, looking sympathetically at Squirrel. "Dis en't easy for you, Miss Greeh."

"No. It's not,' Squirrel said, truthfully, even though it felt like she was lying. "The _Pearl_ was my first real home… since Tortuga, before my parents died." Squirrel sighed and looked down at her bandaged hand. "And now it's gone. Along with everything that made it home." She forced a smile, the lump in her throat appearing of its own accord. "Everything but the crew. My friends; my family." She smiled faintly. "At least I still have them."

It was strange how each truth was placed so calculatingly. Squirrel's conscience cried out to be heard - what good was there in being honest if it was simply a means to an end? But Squirrel was done being honest; honesty had done nothing for her except give her a broken heart. What good was a moral compass if it didn't lead you to what you wanted?

Squirrel didn't trust Tia. So why be honest with her?

The rules had changed. Squirrel had to adapt. She needed to know she could control this game. So she laid her cards on the table, practically and deliberately, all the while building a mask, a disguise, that would cloak her true purpose. Squirrel kept the whole truth hidden, and showed only what she wanted Tia to see.

And for the time being, Tia accepted the truths that Squirrel had given. "Come inside an' 'ave some tea," the swamp woman said gently. "An' I'll see t' your hand."

The candlelight and sunlight in Tia's home illuminated everything, but did not reveal all that was concealed.

**

* * *

A/N:** Reviews are like Illinois sugar cookies to my soul. 


	5. Cost

**Disclaimer**: A Stor Moi Chroi, when you're far away, far from them copyright laws…

**A/N**: Here it is, the much anticipated Barbossa chat! I swear, he's one of the most fun characters to write about. As always, suggestions are welcomed, and reviews and discussions are lots of fun.

Note: Time has passed since the last chapter. It's now the evening of the second day. Just so you know.

* * *

"Good afternoon, Miss Grey." 

Squirrel looked up from her book, and saw Barbossa standing in the doorway. His feet were planted firm, his hat was tilted at that certain angle that looked both jaunty and intimidating, and the monkey perched on his shoulder, grinning its simian grin. The man's black clothes, his sword and pistol, marked him a pirate - and marked him well. Squirrel quickly rose to her feet. "Good afternoon, Captain."

Barbossa pushed open the door to Tia's home and smiled wryly as he let himself in. "As a general rule, Miss Grey, a gentleman will rise for a lady, but not th' other way around."

Squirrel flushed, suddenly feeling foolish. "Well, you're our captain, and… I was…"

Barbossa motioned for Squirrel to sit again. "It was a mark of respect, I gather?"

Squirrel nodded. "Aye. I'm sorry."

But he smiled at her. "Don't be. I understand." Barbossa surveyed the room. "Is Tia Dalma here?"

Squirrel shook her head. "No. She had to go out. One of the women out there," she indicated with a nod of the head to the mangrove forests, "Is giving birth, so, Tia was needed as a midwife. There's no telling how long she'll be." Squirrel indicated to a bottle of wine on the table in front of her with her bandaged hand. "She left this for you, though."

Barbossa's eyes lit up, and his grin widened. "Ah, she knew I was coming, did she?"

Squirrel's lips quirked a little. "Seems like it," she said, voice soft and distant.

The monkey leapt from Barbossa's shoulder and clambered onto Squirrel's lap, purring. Squirrel scratched it under its chin, then behind the ears. The monkey curled up, as pampered as any pet, and let Squirrel preen him.

"He likes you," Barbossa noted. He indicated to the empty chair at the table. "May I?"

"Of course, captain." Squirrel smiled. "And we have met before." She smiled at the monkey. "Haven't we? You're a good friend of mine." The monkey cooed and purred. Squirrel knew that the monkey - as a result of its cursed condition - couldn't feel the warmth of her hand, the touch of her fingers. But it liked the attention nonetheless, and Squirrel felt charitable enough tonight to indulge it.

"I'm surprised ye've not come down to see me today," Barbossa said, seating himself, adjusting the tails of his coat and the angle of his sword as he sat. "Your friends were askin' after ye."

Squirrel half-shrugged. "I'm tired of climbing up and down that damnable ladder," she said, holding up her injured hand. "I think I'll stay up here until it's time to go."

"Fair enough." Barbossa uncorked the bottle Tia had left, and held it under his nose. His eyes closed in appreciation as he breathed in deep. "A good year," he murmured, then poured himself a glass.

Squirrel watched, curiously. Every one of Barbossa's movements was so fluid and practiced. He seemed alert, despite his relaxed manner - he was watching, listening, feeling with all his senses. He wasn't letting anything go to waste; he was taking nothing for granted. He clearly relished the way he was able to smell the wine, able to feel the heat of the candles, able to see the ruddy glow of the wine, and he looked impatiently eager to taste the vintage.

Squirrel did not feel uneasy around this man. On the contrary, she was intrigued by him. Drawn to him, almost.

Barbossa seated himself opposite Squirrel, twirling the wine in the glass, inhaling the scent of it, twirling it again, and then, finally, sipping at it. "Ah," he sighed, his ice-blue eyes locking with Squirrel's, "Yes. A very good year." He smiled. "Can I offer ye a glass, Miss Grey?"

"No, thankyou," Squirrel her head. "You go ahead and enjoy it."

"I shall," Barbossa chuckled. He leant back in the chair, seemingly relaxed and composed. But Squirrel knew that the man sitting opposite her was not as he seemed. Though by all appearances he was an old man, there was no old man's frailty or incompetence about him. At any moment he might spring into action, as graceful and as nimble as any young man, perhaps even more so.

Barbossa's eyes met Squirrel's. "What's that you're readin', Miss Squirrel Grey?"

The monkey clambered up onto Squirrel's shoulder as Squirrel's hand abandoned its task of grooming him, muttering in an affronted manner. "_Hamlet_," Squirrel showed Barbossa the cover.

Barbossa's eyes narrowed shrewdly as he considered the book. "Looks a little waterlogged." He took another sip of the wine.

She traced her fingers over the warped leather cover. "It washed up on the beach last night. One of Tia's friends brought it in while I was sleeping, along with a basket of other things they'd found on the beach." Squirrel looked frankly, honestly, at Barbossa. "It's the same one from the _Black Pearl_."

Barbossa's face had gone expressionless, but his eyes held an understanding, a sympathy. "Is that a fact."

"Yes." Squirrel smoothed her hand over the cover of the book, eyes distant. "I recognise it. And where else would it have come from, if it had washed up with the tide?"

Barbossa nodded, understanding. His lifted his glass, a salute at half-mast. "To the _Black Pearl_." He sighed, lifting the glass to his lips again. "Such a finer ship ne'er sailed the seas."

Squirrel watched Barbossa, curious and respectful, as he drank his wine. Had Barbossa's toast been gently mocking her? Squirrel had been mourning the loss of a ship more than the man who'd captained her. However, she'd had a good reason. A very good reason. A reason that only one other knew about, and could possibly understand. Barbossa's toast seemed genuine, but…

"_And_ to Jack Sparrow," Barbossa added, catching Squirrel's gaze. A smile quirked at his lips, and he set his empty glass down on the table. "Though," he continued, his words a lazy drawl, "Seein' as he's not goin' to stay dead for long, there's no point in wastin' a good vintage on 'im."

Squirrel smiled despite herself. She looked away, but it was hard to hide what had already been seen.

"There," Barbossa said, satisfied, "I knew there was a smile in ye somewhere, angel."

Squirrel looked back, raising an eyebrow. "Angel?"

Barbossa smiled benignly. "Aye," he said, leaning back in the chair again. The monkey leapt up into the rafters, and was lost amid Tia's collection of paraphernalia. Barbossa watched his pet go, then looked back to Squirrel. "Why? Somethin' wrong?"

Squirrel looked at _Hamlet_ where it lay on the table, and restlessly stroked the bandages of her left hand. The book reminded her too much, too much, of that afternoon where she and the pirate had fought in his cabin. _The angel on my shoulder_… And how he'd manipulated her, made her believe him, made her… burn. And then all those men - all those men from Tortuga, who died for _him_. Who died because of her.

"I'm no angel," Squirrel whispered. "I'm not… Don't call me angel, please. I'm not…" She gestured with her bandaged hand, leaving the sentence appropriately unfinished.

"Who ever really is?" Barbossa said, gently, pouring himself more of the wine. Squirrel sighed, and sat back in the chair, resting her bandaged hand across her lap. Barbossa considered her, his head tilted. "I find it curious that you're not afraid of me."

Squirrel lifted her head, quizzical. "Afraid of you? Why should I be? I don't even know you."

Barbossa smiled over the rim of his glass, his ice-blue eyes sparkling. "Ye said ye knew the stories."

"There's a great deal of difference between men from stories, and then what the men themselves are like."

Barbossa swirled the wine in the glass. For a long moment, he said nothing. "I think ye'll find, angel," he murmured finally, "That the stories were all true."

Squirrel frowned slightly. "They can't _all_ be true. Surely some have been exaggerated."

Barbossa's mouth quirked in a sad half-smile, emphasising the scar that cut over his right eye. "Oh, I think you'll find I spent most of my life seein' to the fact that all the stories _were_ true." He sighed, wearily, heavily, regretfully. "I've a lot t' answer for." Barbossa sipped at the wine, then looked at the half-empty glass in his hand. "En't it beautiful?" He asked her. "Look at the way the light catches in the wine, and again in the glass. It's like… It's like I'm drinkin' a ruby." He smiled, sighed, then looked back up at Squirrel. "I think ye'll find," he continued on his previous train of thought, "That what ye know about me is more than enough cause for ye to be afraid of me." His eyes held her, steady and bold.

Squirrel returned the gaze. "Do you really _want_ me to be afraid of you?"

Barbossa raised an eyebrow, then chuckled. "No. Not really, angel." He smiled at her, then looked down at his wine. "It's nice to have someone arguin' my case, showin' me respect," he added with a smile, saluting Squirrel with the wine glass, "Risin' when I come into the room…" His smile faded, "Even when I clearly don't deserve it."

"Everyone deserves a second chance," Squirrel shrugged. "And this is yours."

The monkey swung down from the rafters, bored with his explorations, and sat in Squirrel's lap again, demanding attention. Squirrel obliged, combing her fingers through the animal's fur, but her eyes never left Barbossa's.

"Besides," she added, "If you say you have a lot to answer for, it's obvious you're not the man you once were. If you want to make things better, if you want to change what's happened…"

Barbossa looked thoughtfully at Squirrel. "Aye," he said slowly, nodding. "I suppose so." He drained the rest of his glass, and set it down with a sigh. "Regret can do that to a man."

"Death's given you a new perspective," Squirrel said quietly, thoughtfully.

Barbossa snorted, his eyes distant. "A fresh one, at least."

The afternoon shadows outside were lengthening - evening was approaching. Soon, the fireflies would be out, winging through the air like tiny candles; the stars would light above them, mirroring the fireflies in the inky black sky above. Soon, the chill of the night air would blow through the swamp, smothering the humidity brought on by the heat of the sun. Soon, it would be night. Squirrel looked down at the bundle of fur in her arms. The well-dressed monkey looked up at her with fathomless eyes, and cooed in concern.

"Did you really die?" Squirrel asked, her voice so faint even she wasn't sure she'd asked the question.

Barbossa's ice-blue eyes narrowed at her. "Aye. Of course." There was a pause. "Ye said ye knew the stories."

Squirrel shook her head, half denying it. "I heard. And I believed it, at the time." The monkey in her arms gave a chattering cry; Squirrel scratched behind his ears. "This rascal here is proof enough that the curse of the Aztec gold was real. But…" Squirrel sighed, then looked back to Barbossa. "But dead men aren't supposed to come back to life."

Barbossa's gaze was level, even, and almost challenging in its stillness. "Ah," he said flatly. "So you are afraid of me."

"No," Squirrel shook her head. "I just… I don't… I can't…"

"The curse was upon me," Barbossa said calmly, as though reciting a story from memory, a story about someone else. He never took his eyes from Squirrel's; Squirrel listened, hypnotised. "I felt nothin'. Nothin' but emptiness. All I had were the memories of pain, and taste, and touch." He spoke each word like a caress, as though reminding himself of a time when these were denied to him. "Only memories of these things, nothin' more. Then there was a shot. Ye know the story about Jack's pistol?"

Squirrel ignored the bitter taste in her mouth, and merely nodded. "It had single shot. The one you left him… when you… when…"

"When I marooned him, angel, and left him to die." Barbossa's eyes bore holes in Squirrel. "He used it. And then young Mister Turner lifted the curse. I died." Barbossa tapped at her chest, were his heart lay. "I have a scar, if you need more proof."

Squirrel shook her head. "I know that you died," she said, feeling as though she'd dived too deep. "But how did you come back?"

Barbossa cast a lazy eye around the room. "I don't know, angel," he said quietly. "All I know is that as I lay dyin', I felt… cold. I felt somethin' for the first and the last time in years." He turned back to Squirrel, eyes glittering. "Death came. A deep sleep. Emptiness, darker an' deeper than the curse of Cortez. Silence. And then… I woke. Here."

Squirrel looked down, almost frightened by the intensity in Barbossa's eyes.

"Dead men aren't supposed to come back to life," Barbossa said, answering Squirrel's previous statement. "But they can."

Squirrel shook her head, cold all over. "It's not possible…"

Barbossa poured more ruby-red wine into the glass. "It's possible to go against God's laws, if that's what ye're worried about." He picked up the glass, paying more attention to the wine than to Squirrel's wide-eyed stare. "But doin' so always costs ye." Barbossa sipped at the wine.

"Costs?" Squirrel curiosity won out over fear. "What do you mean?"

Barbossa leaned forward, and picked up the book that lay between them. "Take the crown prince of Denmark, for instance," the captain said, tapping the open page. "The only way that he can restore order and avenge his father is to commit murder." Barbossa's eyes went cold, regretful. "And we all know the Law: thou shalt not kill. Hamlet restores order in the end, but at a great cost. His own life." He looked meaningfully at Squirrel. "Balance must be maintained, even for those who seek justice." Barbossa gestured to the monkey sitting on Squirrel's lap. "Jack here can never again feel, or taste, or live a mortal life. This goes against the laws of the Almighty, even if the heathen gods are given the credit." The monkey climbed up onto the table and started chewing on its tail, looking almost downcast. Barbossa sipped at his wine. "Davy Jones may be the most fearsome captain on the high seas, and nigh unstoppable to boot, but…"

"He's not human anymore," Squirrel finished. "He cut out his own heart. He sold his soul."

Barbossa nodded. "And what does it profit a man," he asked, philosophically, "If he should gain the world but lose his own soul?"

"I still can't help but feel sorry for Captain Jones," Squirrel said faintly, introspectively. "Trapped in a tragedy of his own making."

"Each to his own, then," Barbossa grinned. He held up the glass and turned it in the light, staring thoughtfully at its contents. "But then, who am I to judge, seein' as I were once in that same condition?"

Squirrel looked to the captain sitting opposite her. "Captain," she said softly, "What about you?"

"Hrm?" Barbossa turned his attention to her, still nursing his glass of wine.

"What cost was there to bring you back?"

A shadow of pain and regret passed over Barbossa's face for a moment. Then he smiled. "There's no need to be thinkin' of such things, angel. You'll only mar that pretty face of your'n." Then he sighed. "Suffice to say," he added, seeing Squirrel's distress, "I'll have to pay me dues twice over when the time comes." He smiled faintly.

The stillness of the house grew oppressive. Barbossa drank his wine, slowly, savouring it. The monkey started playing with the crab claws on the table, restlessly, making noises under its breath. The shadows outside lengthened, the chorus of insects and birds and faint voices carried through the air.

Squirrel's lips and tongue barely moved, and her voice was merely a whisper. "And what about…"

Barbossa waited, patiently.

"… me?"

The pirate captain frowned slightly. "I don't follow your meaning, angel."

"What about all the things I've done?" Squirrel asked, voice low. "The men I've killed."

Barbossa raised an eyebrow. "The men _ye've_ killed?"

Squirrel hunched over, arm cradled to her stomach, and forced out the story. "Davy Jones demanded 100 souls in exchange. William was the 'good feeth peeyment." The Scottish burr of Davy Jones' accent tasted strange to Squirrel. "We needed ninety-nine more. We sailed to Tortuga, to hire the men we needed. I know Tortuga. I know it well." Squirrel felt the old coldness and misery returning, but she ploughed on, relentless, wanting to have the story told and over with. "I knew that to get ninety-nine more souls… I ordered rum. Rum enough to draw men like moths to a candle flame." Squirrel shut her eyes, wanting to make the reality vanish. "I signed their death warrant. They're dead because of me." She could feel Barbossa's steady gaze, could see him watching her from the corner of her eye. "What's my punishment to be?" Squirrel asked, pained. "How will I be measured?"

"That depends," Barbossa said, his face hard but his eyes glittering with amusement. "D'ye feel sorry for what ye've done? Or are ye just afraid of the consequences?"

Squirrel looked up, frowning and alarmed. She hadn't considered that. "I…"

"Ye ordered rum on Tortuga, angel," Barbossa continued, interrupting. "All ye did was buy barrels of drink."

Squirrel interrupted him in return. "With the _intention_ of trapping sailors and pirates! I took advantage of them!" Squirrel barked, angry at herself more than Barbossa. "I _knew_ the way they would think. I _knew_ what they would choose. And I chose to exploit that!"

Barbossa gave a short, humourless snort of laughter. "With the _intention_ of saving Jack Sparrow's life." He smiled pleasantly at the shocked Squirrel. "That was for whom the exchange of souls was to take place, correct?"

Squirrel looked away bitterly, reaching up to touch the necklace at her throat. "The road to hell is paved with good intentions," she muttered, fingering one of the diamonds.

"No." Barbossa set his empty glass down, his face composed. "It's paved with a single choice, Miss. I should know." He paused a moment, considering the despondent face opposite him. "Tell me somethin', angel. Did Jack get to trade those men to Davy Jones? Did they fulfil the purpose to which ye intended them?"

"No," Squirrel muttered, "But they died anyway. Killed by the Kraken." Squirrel gave a mirthless chuckle. "But the rum came in handy. Used it to force the Kraken away." She remembered again the way the _Pearl_ was tipped, toppled, dragged under. "… for a time."

Barbossa sat back in the chair again, and steepled his hands. "So, even though the rum saved your life and the life of your friends, ye feel guilty for leadin' men ye don't even know to their graves."

"I made a terrible choice."

"It was that, or die." Barbossa shrugged. "Ye did what ye had to - that's a pirate's way. And, from what I see, you're not dead yet."

Squirrel's lips twisted. "Yet." She echoed. Then she sighed. "I'll have to pay for it one day," she said, bleak but resigned.

Barbossa nodded. "Aye. You will." He smiled, reassuring. "But that won't be for a while yet."

Squirrel lifted her right hand, and crossed her fingers; with her bandaged hand, she tapped lightly on the table in front of her. Barbossa chuckled.

"Fear not, angel," he said, holding his arm out for his pet; the monkey scrabbled up onto Barbossa's shoulder and sat comfortably under the brim of the captain's hat. "There'll be a chance to atone for what ye've done. There's no call to make yerself suffer like this. Maybe one day you'll come to realise it's not your fault. Maybe one day you'll let your conscience rest." Barbossa locked eyes with her. "In the meantime, ye should concentrate on gettin' better." He reached out and gently tapped the back of Squirrel's bandaged hand, then rose to his feet. "I'll leave ye to your book. Good evenin', Miss Grey." He bowed to her, turned, and headed for the door.

"Good evening, Captain." Squirrel stayed seated, listening to the sound of the captain's heavy footsteps as he crossed the wooden floor. The sound reminded her of the night she'd first met the captain, about the feeling of fate that had shivered down her spine and trilled in her heart.

"One more thing," Barbossa said, turning back at the open doorway. He looked almost amused, but at the same time there was a seriousness in his eyes. "When we were talkin' about… cost. You weren't goin' t' ask about yourself, were ye? Ye had someone else in mind."

Squirrel held his eyes for as long as she could - in the end, she had to look away.

Barbossa nodded. "Hmm. I thought so." He sighed. "There will be a cost for bringing him back from th' dead, angel, mark me. But it's not something that someone like ye should let your thoughts dwell on."

Squirrel just sat and stared at her - at the _pirate_'s - copy of _Hamlet_. "Do you know what the cost will be, captain?"

Barbossa shook his head. "No," he said. "None but God knows that." He made a small bow - the monkey on his shoulder mirroring him - before turning and shutting the door quietly behind him. Leaving Squirrel alone with her thoughts.

_Hamlet_ lay open to where Squirrel had been reading it. The words on the page leapt out at her. _To be or not to be_, Hamlet agonised, airing his thoughts to an empty room, _That is the question. Whether tis nobler in the mind to suffer… or to take arms against a sea of troubles_…

Squirrel flipped the pages, troubled.

_Let the devil wear black_, Hamlet mocked, laughing, _for I'll have a suit of sables_.

Squirrel turned the pages again, her frown deepening.

_Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well when our deep plots do pall_, Hamlet sighed, self-assured where Squirrel was not, _And that should teach us there's a divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will_…

Squirrel turned the pages, backwards this time. Hamlet's words no longer leapt to her attention. Rather, through the salt-ruined pages, Ophelia sat and mourned, kneeling on the floor surrounded by papers. Papers covered with strange cryptic notes, of numbers and symbols… and dozens and dozens of question marks.

_O, woe is me, _she sighed, staring off over the horizon, eyes filled with tears,_ To have seen what I have seen, see what I see!_

Squirrel had had enough. She shut the cover of the book with a slam, and threw herself back in her chair. It was just a story. Just words on a page, nothing more. So why did those words speak to her so plainly? So bluntly? Why did they cut so keenly?

Despite Captain Barbossa's parting words, Squirrel's thoughts were dwelling dangerously on one topic. Though the train of her thoughts took her away from the main issue, eventually her thoughts came full-circle. Guilt, regret, fear, heartbreak, anger, jealousy, nothingness, and then all over again; faces and words, memories and stories. There was no escape from thinking about it. She was trapped. A prisoner of her own mind.

Squirrel's eye chanced upon the bottle of wine, and her thoughts took a different curve.

There was a hiss in the air, and Squirrel turned her head. Tia's python was sliding in through the window, its white skin contrasting sharply against the dark wood of Tia's home. As if sensing Squirrel's presence, the snake lifted its albino head, and its tongue flickered, tasting the air. It seemed to be watching her. Waiting.

Feeling a strange sense of guilt and a curious rush of adrenaline, Squirrel ignored the snake, and reached instead for the bottle of wine.

"Kep-ten!"

The bottle tipped sideways, and Squirrel scrambled to catch it before it toppled to the floor.

"Good evenin' Tia!" Barbossa's voice came through the windows, muted by distance.

"Did yeh enjoy deh wine?" Tia asked, standing at the balcony.

Barbossa laughed. "Aye, very much so! Thankye!"

"Only one more dee 'til we set seel, kep-ten. Is deh _Artemis_ ready?"

"I'm headin' there now t' see if it's so," Barbossa's voice grew even fainter. "I thought it best that I leave the crew to do their work. They seem a mite afraid of me."

"Deh-spite your manners, too, Kep-ten? Sooch a sheme!" Tia's laugh was like a collection of copper bells. "Tek care, and good night!"

"Aye! Adieu!"

Tia was still grinning when she admitted herself into her home. "Twins," she told Squirrel, "A gehrl an' a boy. Deh birt'in' of dem was easy, much to deh relief of deh mudder. Good, healt'y beebs." She set down the basket of herbs and bottles on a stand by the door, then crossed to Squirrel. "Did deh kep-ten finish deh wine?"

"I don't know."

Tia picked up the bottle and shook it. No sounds came from within - the wine was gone. With a smile, the swamp woman nodded. "Ah knew deh kep-ten would enjoy dis." She looked sidelong at Squirrel, tucking the empty bottle under one arm. "Did you and deh kep-ten have much to sey to each odder?"

Squirrel rose to her feet, eyes turned away. "Yes. We did." She moved off.

Tia snorted. "Oh, but it's none of my business, is it, Miss Greeh?"

"No," Squirrel pushed aside the curtain that separated the pallet in the storeroom from the rest of the house. "Not really."

Squirrel's cloak lay on the bed, cleaned and repaired. Squirrel stared at it a moment, not knowing what to think. Tia must have brought it in last night, or in the morning, or sometime when Squirrel paid no heed to Tia's potterings around her home.

With a grunt, Squirrel tossed the cloak aside, then threw herself down on the pallet. Curling up on her side, her left hand cradled to her protectively, she closed her eyes and listened to the sound of her breathing until she found sleep.


	6. The Course Is Set

**Disclaimer**: Ahoy, Disney! Prepare to be boarded!

**A/N**: This is the last of the non-major spoiler chapters. I know it's a little shorter than the others, bear with me. After this chapter, stuff may happen in the movie which may require me to put the story on hiatus for tweaking. But, for the time being, I'll keep writing and hope I stay true to Ted and Terry's upcoming masterpiece.

**Warning**: Some minor spoilers.

* * *

Squirrel shaded her eyes against the sun as the longboat breeched the tree line, bursting into the sun. She peered across the water, looking for the _Artemis_' sail. Pintel and Ragetti smiled at her as they hauled on the oars, just as excited as she was. The three days had passed both too fast and too slowly, but now they were finally on their way. The time to cast off was so near, Squirrel could almost taste it. 

The _Artemis_ shone, clean and crisp, in the bright noon sunlight. The clipper was anchored just offshore, in the shallows, last minute checks having been made on her ballast and caulking. She was seaworthy now, without a doubt. Every inch of moss and slime had been cleared off her, and there was no comparison between this clipper and the ship Squirrel had seen hidden in the mangroves. It was as though they were two completely different ships, but the figurehead marked the clipper out on the water as one and the same with the one trapped amid the mud and the trees.

"You boys did a good job sprucing her up," Squirrel complimented the men with her.

Mr Cotton's parrot flapped its wings and danced on its Gibbs's shoulder. "Starboard and larboard! Haul on the mainstay!" With a flurry of feathers and a loud _brawk_, it lifted off into the air, winging through the air above their heads.

"Aye," Gibbs agreed, "She's a fine vessel."

"She looks a bit small from here," Squirrel noted, with a twinge of concern.

"Looks can be deceivin'," Ragetti smiled, catching Squirrel's eye before looking aside shyly.

Gibbs nodded sagely. "Aye, that's true. The _Artemis_ will more'n comfortably hold the nine of us." Pintel paused his rowing to count off on his fingers, then nodded and grinned when he was sure the count was correct.

Squirrel looked over her shoulder, at the second longboat coasting down the river. Cotton and Will hauled on the oars, their backs to her; Marty and Elizabeth sat in the midst of a polite conversation. Elizabeth caught Squirrel's eye and smiled.

Squirrel pressed her lips together in return before turning back.

Barbossa stood on the beach, his hands clasped behind his back, surveying the _Artemis_ in the same manner he had surveyed the trees in which the clipper was hidden. There was a green apple in one of his hands. The monkey scrabbled around in the sand, chasing crabs and playing with seashells. It looked up, and gave a chirp as it saw the two longboats, but Barbossa did not move.

The longboat ground against the sand, beaching itself. Squirrel rose to climb out, and three hands outstretched to aid her; Pintel's, Ragetti's and Gibbs'. Squirrel laughed, surprised by this overwhelming show of kindness, looking from one hand to the other, trying to decide whose hand she should take. In the end, she let Gibbs' calloused hand help her out of the longboat and onto solid land, choosing him simply out of familiarity. Pintel and Ragetti withdrew, looking disappointed.

"There's always next time," Squirrel shrugged apologetically at them, holding up her bandaged hand as a reminder. The two pirates brightened at that; Gibbs pulled an amused smile, hiding it as best he could.

The other longboat beached itself, and its four occupants joined the four already standing on the beach. As a group, the six men and two women crossed the sand. Everyone was silent - silently passing between them all was a feeling of expectancy, a fragile hope, a tension. As the group approached Barbossa, the captain turned to face them.

"Are ye ready, then?" He asked, taking a bite of his apple.

"Yes," Will, Squirrel, and Elizabeth breathed in unison. There were no exchanged glances between the crew. They stood together, determined in their course, determined in their choice. For whatever reason they had chosen, they were going.

Barbossa's grin widened, and he nodded. "Good." He half-turned to face the sea again. "We'll leave as soon as the tide turns, and we'll set our course to the world's end." His words tolled like an iron bell, sending shivers down spines.

"Where is that, exactly?" Squirrel asked, breaking the theatrical silence.

Barbossa raised an eyebrow and took a bite of his apple, but said nothing.

Gibbs looked at Squirrel, almost pityingly, and said in his gravely storyteller's tone, "Miss Grey, isn't it obvious? We're headin' for the frozen North. To that Hell on Earth where the riggin' and sails of a ship can freeze solid, and glaciers large as islands rise out of the sea to snare and sink unsuspecting vessels, where ghost ships sail haunted waters and great beasts roam the seas. _That's_ where we're headin'."

"Nah, that ain't where we're headin'," Pintel frowned at Gibbs. "We're headin' for the frozen _South_. Much 'arder to get to, and none 'oove ventured that way 'ave ever returned. Tougher seas, you know," he explained to a nonplussed Elizabeth. But Elizabeth's expression did not change - she was looking at Squirrel, as though realising what Squirrel had asked._ Yes, where are we going?_

Ragetti frowned thoughtfully to himself. "I thought the word was round." He looked confused. "How can there be an end to the world if it's round?" Gibbs and Pintel looked at Ragetti with the same expressions that they had worn when Ragetti had shared his idea of what vexed all men.

Will sighed, exchanging a look with Squirrel. "Surely, Captain," he said, addressing Barbossa, "The 'ends of the earth' has to be a real place, if we're to journey there. If we need a ship, and a captain who knows the waters, then 'world's end' has to be a real place." He folded his arms, strong in his almost-defiance. "So, where is it? Where are we going?"

Barbossa smiled knowingly, his eyes narrowing. "_Pulau Ujong_," he said, burring the words. He smiled at the eight faces turned his way. "An island where all we know means nothin', for all the rules are different. An island ruled by a woman who never speaks. An island that'd be a diamond were it not for the rough. An island populated by the most ruthless pirates ye'll e'er find on land or sea."

"_Pulau Ujong_." Squirrel carefully folded her arms, unimpressed, and scoffed. "We're going to _Singapore_?" Faces turned to her - her friends frowned at her, unwelcoming of the interruption, or faced her with raised eyebrows and incredulous looks.

But Barbossa was impressed. "Very good, angel. Aye. We're goin' to Singapore. Pulau Ujong be one of that fair port's local names… Though I'm curious as to how ye knew that."

"I grew up in Tortuga," Squirrel muttered. Stories and sailors from every port in the world found their way to that island eventually.

Mr Cotton's parrot winged out of the sky and alighted on its owner's shoulder, crying, "Pass 'round the grog! Shore leave! Shore leave!"

"Singapore!" Pintel grinned, rubbing his hands together. "Well, it could have been a whole lot worse!" Ragetti nodded, agreeing with his friend. Gibbs also nodded, half-shrugging, but there was a glint in his eye and a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

"It _is_ worse!" Squirrel protested, arms still folded. She turned to Barbossa, ignoring all the startled faces turned her way. "Captain, with all due respect, this is foolishness!"

"Do explain, angel." Barbossa said, with an infuriatingly patient smile.

Squirrel rolled her eyes, gesturing with both hands. "It's in the _heart_ of the East Indies! The home of the East India Trading Company!" She emphasised each word of that hated enterprise, wanting to make her point as clear as it needed to be. "They _hang_ pirates! They'll be guarding those waters jealously! We _won't_ go unnoticed, even if we're not attacking their ships!" She took a breath. "And not to mention the fact that Singapore's on the other side of the world! It'll take _months_ to cross the Atlantic, even with the speed of a clipper. There'll be storms, foul seas, other pirates…"

"Miss," Marty hissed, trying to stop Squirrel's tirade.

"And that's just until we reach the coast of Africa," Squirrel continued, undaunted. "Then we've got Cape Horn to navigate. The winds down there can tear masts off and wreck even the sturdiest of vessels, let alone a clipper! And then," she held up her hand, "And then, if by the grace of God alone, we manage to reach Singapore, _and_ are able to slip past the East India Trading Company unnoticed, _how_ are supposed to find what we're looking for? None of us here speak Chinese!" She half-laughed, shaking her head. "You'll have to excuse me, Captain, but I just don't see how this voyage is even possible!"

Barbossa just stood there, having weathered Squirrel's outburst with nothing more than a smile on his face. "Ye done?"

Squirrel took a breath and let it go, controlling herself. She looked to Will, and was disheartened to see the discouragement in his eyes. Likewise Gibbs and the rest of her family - she hadn't meant to kill their hope. She'd just wanted to point out the flaws in the plan. Though, now that she thought about it, it had been very inappropriate. She looked aside, feeling guilty. _This is what happens when you speak before you think_, a gentle voice chided her. Squirrel ignored it.

"A little positivity goes a long way, angel," Barbossa took another bite of his apple, hiding a smile. "Try not to let circumstances get ye down." He turned and addressed the rest of the crew. "It will be hard, make no mistake. And there's a fair number o' risks involved, as has been pointed out." His words were addressed to everyone, but his ice-blue eyes locked on Squirrel. "I repeat what I said earlier - I won't stop ye if ye want to turn back, or if ye think it's too much of a risk. No-one's forcin' ye to come. Ye can stay, if that's what ye want."

Squirrel bowed her head and looked away, shamed. "No," she murmured, "I'm coming."

"We all are." Elizabeth seconded. "But of all the places to set a course for, Singapore is…"

"Not what yeh expected?"

The crew all turned to look over their shoulders. Tia was walking down the beach towards them. Sand was sticking to her bare feet - she'd crossed the mangroves and mudflats to reach the shore by foot. Slung across one shoulder was a leather satchel, and she held a wooden chest under one arm. Her amulet shone dully gold in the sunshine.

Tia smiled, her eyes knowing and her smile teasing. "T'ings are seldom what yeh'd expect, Elizabet'. But sometimes," she turned her gaze to Will, "Sometimes what seem a curse can be a blessin' in disguise." She shrugged, tilting her head. "So, to world's end you go."

In the wake of Tia's words, the crewmen and women all exchanged glances. The tension they'd shared a moment before had returned - they all stood on the brink of something big. The journey was about to begin, and all were committed to the course.

Barbossa took a deep breath, looking out to sea with a somewhat blissful expression. "Tide's turning, ladies and gents. Let's get underway." He smiled, and headed down the beach, to where the _Artemis_ was moored. The crew broke, crossing the sand, making for the sea.

But Tia grabbed Squirrel's arm, stopping her. "Miss Greeh, weet a momen'."

Squirrel cast a longing glance down the beach, at the _Artemis_ bobbing in the waves. Like the clipper's figurehead, Squirrel wanted to get going, get started, get out of this place.

"Dis is for you." Tia slipped the satchel over her head and handed it to Squirrel. "To meek deh voyage much easier."

Gibbs, Will and Ragetti hung back, curious, while the others headed down the beach. Squirrel gingerly took the satchel from Tia, suspicious of the woman's intentions but unwilling to reveal that mistrust yet.

"What is it?"

Tia smiled, baring her ink-stained teeth. "Yeh'll 'ave to see, won't you?" She smiled, then headed down the beach.

Squirrel slipped the satchel over her head, and frowned at Tia's back. "You came to see us off?"

"No," Tia said, not pausing a step or even looking over her shoulder. "I'm comin' wit' you."

"What?"

Gibbs looked anxious; Will tilted his head, his brow furrowing; Ragetti frowned, perplexed and uncertain; Squirrel stood, frozen, mouth half-open and eyes hard.

"Yees," Tia purred, looking back. "I'm comin' wit' you." She shrugged a brazenly-bare shoulder, adjusting the sea chest she held more comfortably on one hip. "You will need meh 'elp in deh dees aheed. You'll be glad I keem, trus' me. And," she added, almost as an afterthought, "Deh kep-ten is already well-informed." Tia gave her cat-like smile before turning back and crossing down the beach, heading for the _Artemis_.

Squirrel closed her mouth and expelled her breath. "Of course," she said, partly to herself, her right hand clenching.

Gibbs gave a similarly ill-at-ease sigh. "One woman aboard a ship is naught but trouble," he muttered, "Two women find plenty of it, but three? _Three_? 'S more bad luck than could be borne by a single vessel. Especially when one of 'em's a witch." Gibbs crossed himself surreptitiously, though Squirrel half-wondered if he'd rather brush himself, turn full circle and spit, to ward off the bad luck.

Ragetti looked uneasily down the beach, then back to Squirrel and Gibbs. "She's not gonna 'ex us or nuffin', is she?"

"She's helping us," Will said, drawing the others together with his words. "She's… proved to be right about many things so far, and she's helped us. If she wants to come with us - if she says we'll need her - I'm inclined to agree." Will's expression did not completely match the surety of his words.

Gibbs frowned. "I'd rather leave this place behind with her still here, but…"

"Tia is coming with us," Squirrel said flatly, adjusting the satchel under her arm. "She's made up her mind, so who are we to try and stop her?"

Gibbs scoffed. "Miss Grey, if you even knew half the stories I did about that woman, you'd be of a different mind."

"I am of a different mind," Squirrel said lightly. "But Tia's decision is not mine to make."

Will looked at Squirrel curiously for a moment, then looked down the beach. "We'd better get going. We don't want to be left behind."

A few moments later, the _Artemis_' sail filled with the fresh sea air. The clipper got her wish; she leapt out into the wild and boundless ocean, free at last.

**

* * *

A/N: **Next chapters will contain more spoilers, more drama, and more ANGST! Wait, is angst the same as drama? Mebbe, mebbe not. This chapter, and its predecessors, shall be kept tweak-free. The following chapters, however… may have to edit them after the movie comes out, so ye be warned. I will let you know. 

And, as a side note, Pulau Ujong is Malay for 'The Island at the End'. Even though the name refers to the Malacca Straits, I applaud Ted and Terry for slipping Singapore into the movie, because the reference is just perfect. All hail my adopted home country! _Majulah Singapura_!


	7. Lies

**Disclaimer**: According to the Pirate's Code set down by the Order of the Brethren, this story is not legal. But it's fun, which means it's okay.

**A/N**: Character drama in this chapter, no spoilers for you today. Mostly just foreshadowing. Enjoy.

Also, on a completely unrelated note, I have this idea that Barbossa's theme song for the third movie should be AC-DC's _Back In Black_. It works. It does. I'm serious. I took my happy pills this morning, I swear… Dun! Ba-da-dun! Ba-da-dun. Peew-neew-neew-neew-neew! Dun! Ba-da-da! Ba-da-da! De-dao-de-dao-de-dao-da-dao…

* * *

Squirrel leant against the wood of the pilot box, shaded by the _Artemis_' sail, and rolled her dice around in the palm of her right hand. She stared out to sea, her thoughts as awash as waves against a reef. Leaning against the wood, she could feel the vibrations of footsteps and muted voices. Below deck, within the clipper's tiny hold, five of the ten-man crew were taking their rest or acquainting themselves with their new home. The other half were on deck and fulfilling what duties there was aboard such a tiny ship. Barbossa stood on the prow, scanning the sea with his telescope, the monkey on his shoulder and the apple clutched in his free hand. Gibbs manned the tiller, keeping an eye on the sail; Will was watching Squirrel's fingers twist and twirl the dice, his eyes absorbed simply because there was nothing else to stare at. And Elizabeth sat on the port side, unseen on the other side of the clipper, staring out to sea. Squirrel knew this, simply because Squirrel had elected - almost unconsciously - to put a barrier between herself and Elizabeth. 

Squirrel settled herself more comfortably against the wood and sighed. Only an hour out to sea and already the tedium of a pleasant, uneventful voyage was bearing down on them all. With nothing better to do, she set down the dice and opened the leather satchel Tia had given her.

The first thing Squirrel saw was her cloak. She'd forgotten it, in all the excitement to leave. No, that was a lie. She'd simply forgotten it. It brought back too many memories, most of them unpleasant. Quietly repressing the expression on her face, Squirrel took out the neatly folded bundle of blue-grey cloth and set it aside. Once the cloak was out of the way, Squirrel was able to see the rest of the contents of the bag. And she laughed.

"What is it?" Will asked, coming over.

Squirrel rifled around in the bag with her good hand. "Oh, nothing. It's just… things." She picked out a mirror, the same mirror she'd examined her face in the first morning in Tia's home. This time, though, Squirrel did not peer into the reflective surface. She had no desire to see her eyes. Instead, Squirrel turned it around, and examined the strange markings on the back, the red lines on the black wood. It wasn't like any design Squirrel had ever seen. Will put his hand out, curious - Squirrel passed the mirror to him, leaving her free to better examine the rest of the bag's contents.

Sheaves of yellowing paper, bound with a thick leather cord. A tiny stoppered inkwell, and an albatross-feather quill in a bamboo sheath. Three yellow candles, thinner sisters to the ones which dotted Tia's home. A bottle of oil, which, once uncorked, released the scent of lavender. There was even, amidst an extra slop-suit and a bundle of rags (of which their intended purpose was obvious), a pair of fine silk stockings. Squirrel shook her head again, letting out a breath of laughter.

Will passed her back the mirror. "What's the joke?" He half-smiled.

Squirrel shrugged, her smile an echo of his. "Just something I said to Tia a couple of days ago. I was telling her about…" Squirrel paused a moment, finding herself looking back into Will's deep eyes. "… about everything I'd lost when the _Pearl_ sank."

Will tilted his head, his expression unchanged but there was a patient knowledge in his eyes.

Squirrel shrugged, "Well, aside from the obvious." The water-logged copy of _Hamlet_ was also in the satchel, as well a turtleshell comb, a small wooden jewellery box, and a green leather pouch. Squirrel took the pouch out and examined its contents: nothing but smooth stones, ammunition for her shanghai. Squirrel immediately tried to tie it to her belt, once again overestimating her ability to do even the simplest tasks one-handed.

"Here," Will said, shuffling closer. "Let me help."

Squirrel pinked a little. "No," she said, abruptly, then amended, "I think you'd better not. Someone might see, and get the wrong idea." She set the bag of stones back in the satchel, to deal with later. She told herself it was just the heat of the sun making her face burn.

"Of course," Will said, sitting back, looking a little embarrassed. "I didn't mean to offend."

"No offence taken," Squirrel said as she opened the small box. Eight identical dice rattled like bones, their numbers staring like spider's eyes out in every direction. "What good are these?" Squirrel wondered aloud, tipping the dice onto the deck and looking at them critically.

Will also looked at the dice, thoughtfully; darkly. "If there were two more of them, we could play Liar's Dice."

Squirrel set the eight dice down on the deck and procured the two from her belt pouch. "Good idea," she said. "A fine way to pass the time." She looked at Will, curious. "Where did you learn to play?"

Will seated himself cross-legged opposite Squirrel, avoiding her eyes. "Aboard the _Flying Dutchman_. It's how I got the key to the dead man's chest."

Squirrel stared, both aghast and impressed. "You took on Davy Jones, and won?"

"I didn't win," Will said shortly. He took two of the papers from Squirrel's satchel and quickly and deftly folded them, making two impromptu cups. Squirrel waited silently, not knowing what to say. Finally, Will was ready. He handed one of the paper cups to Squirrel. "Ready to play?" Each of them took five dice each.

"Just a fair warning, William," Squirrel smiled, already victorious, "You can't beat me at my own game."

Will frowned at Squirrel, curious and doubtful. But the game had begun. The players' dice clattered to the deck, the paper cups shielded them from the others' sight, and two sets of dark brown eyes locked and frowned in thought.

"One four." Will looked at Squirrel frankly, daring her.

"One two," Squirrel said, rubbing her mouth with the back of her bandaged hand, unable to meet his gaze.

"Two twos." While Squirrel considered her own dice again, Will asked in an undertone, "Why did you promise to help me? To free my father?"

"Two threes," Squirrel said, then likewise lowered her voice. "Does it bother you that I would make that kind of promise?"

"No," Will said, patiently. "But I would know the reason. You don't even know my father."

"No, I don't." Squirrel's brow furrowed slightly, still staring down at her dice. "But I know his son." She looked up. "Your turn."

Will stared a moment longer at Squirrel before reconsidering his dice. "Two sixes," he hazarded.

"One five." Squirrel pulled at an earring, then murmured. "I never make a promise I can't keep. And I intend to keep this one."

"But why?" Will's frown turned almost suspicious, the same frown he'd worn in the orchard. "And why, for that matter, are you still coming? You, of all people, have the least reason to follow such a course."

Squirrel fingered her necklace, tapping the diamonds of bone. "Really? Funny, I would have had you picked as the one least likely to carry on."

Will's hands closed slightly around the paper cup. "I have my reasons," he said quietly, casting a glance to the port side, where a golden woman was looking out over the waves.

"And I have mine." Squirrel's voice dropped an octave, and took on Gibbs' tone: "'He fooled us all, right to the very end. And already the world seems a bit less bright.'" Squirrel's eyes hardened, but her voice softened to the light British accent possessed by Miss Swann. "'He was a good man.'"

Will's dark looked darkened even further, but there was a tinge of hopelessness and heartache in his eyes again.

"I'd like to believe the latter," Squirrel said, her voice back to normal, "But I don't know if I can. Not now." She shrugged. "And, he's dead, so how will I ever know?"

"We're going to get him back." Will reminded her.

She gave a scoff of laughter. "Yes. We're sailing to the ends of the earth to find him. But what does that mean, the 'ends of the earth'? Heaven? …or Hell?" There was a significant pause, in which Squirrel and Will looked deep into each others' eyes.

"Singapore," Will provided with a wry smile, forcing Squirrel to look aside lest her grin prove too bright. "Two fours."

"You're very good at this, Mister Turner," Squirrel complimented.

"It's not that hard a game to learn," Will said softly, looking again at his dice.

This time, it was Squirrel's turn to have her eyes go dark. "I wasn't talking about the dice, William." There was another pause. Then, Squirrel sighed. "One one. Game."

"It's not over yet," Will frowned.

"It is for now," Squirrel stroked the bandages on her left hand. "Call me a liar, or reveal yourself as one." Will looked up at her, eyes thoughtful and half-frowning. Then he shook his head, and made to uncover his dice; he was forfeiting.

Squirrel's hand snapped out and closed over his, stopping him from lifting the paper cup. Will jolted, surprised, then looked up at her in confusion.

"I won't let you become a liar, William," Squirrel said, eyes intense and deep with meaning. "You leave that to me." Gently, she lifted Will's hand, revealing his dice.

One two, two threes, one five, and one one. Everything Squirrel had called was what Will had rolled. Will looked at Squirrel, startled. But Squirrel just stared at the dice; somehow, winning this game hadn't been as satisfying as she'd thought it would be.

"Looks like we're both liars, then," she said faintly.

Will reached out and uncovered Squirrel's dice. Will had not been incorrect in his guesses - of the ten dice on the deck between him and Squirrel, Will had guessed all of what was there. Squirrel nodded to herself, but could not help but feel the smallest flicker of astonishment.

"Either that," Will said, just as soft, "Or we're both too honest for our own good."

Squirrel lifted her eyes to smile wryly at Will, who smiled in return. It was then they both realised that Squirrel was still holding onto Will's hand. She let go, quickly, awkward. Will shifted, taking his hand back, eyes sliding away from her.

"What are you playing?" Elizabeth suddenly stood behind Squirrel, looking curiously down over Squirrel's shoulders.

"Liar's dice," Squirrel said, without turning around.

"May I play?"

Will shook his head regretfully. "There's only enough dice for two people." He looked to Squirrel, almost-smiling in a manner that was so pleading. But what was he pleading for? For her to stay? Or for her to go?

Squirrel stumbled to her feet, not even taking the time to think about consequences, about whether she was right or wrong. "It's alright, Will. I don't mind." She gestured for Elizabeth to take her place. "It's the perfect time for you to take over, Miss Swann. We had just finished a round."

"Well, who won?" Elizabeth's sunny smile showed she had not seen what had passed between Will and Squirrel earlier; or, if she did, she thought it nothing.

"It was a draw," Will said, then smiled fondly up at his fiancé. Squirrel was not oblivious to the pain in the beat of his broken heart. Quietly, she collected her satchel and left the lovers to their game.

She crossed the deck, took Elizabeth's place at the port side, and stared out to sea.

* * *

It had been an awkward night, to say the least. 

If women weren't bad luck aboard a ship, one could easily see why they'd become so: having women aboard a ship just made everything inconvenient. And it was far easier to dismiss awkward necessity as bad luck. Privacy was rare enough on a ship; for both the men and women aboard the _Artemis_, it was hard to preserve modesties in such close quarters. Somehow, though, it had been done. Some silent agreement had been reached - when a woman came up on deck looking uncomfortable, the men crept below. And visa versa.

In addition to this, here were only six bunks in the hold, three of which had been set aside for the women for politeness's sake. Squirrel had scorned the bunk, finding it far too claustrophobic even for her tastes. Her room in Tortuga had been the size on the entire crew's quarters; to sleep in a space smaller than a coffin was too much to ask of her. She'd rather sit hugging her knees on the ship's deck, shivering in the cold night air and the sea spray - held at bay by her cloak - than risk sleeping below and having another nightmare. Despite protests and offers of some other alternatives, Squirrel would not be dissuaded.

The light of the false dawn had been a welcome relief for Squirrel, who'd not slept more than a few brief moments the whole night.

"Sleep well?" Will asked, appearing in the corner of her eye.

Squirrel grunted, wrapped her cloak a little tighter around herself and stared out over the grey sea. "Well enough." Seeing Will's raised eyebrow, she sighed and amended, "Considering."

"Here." Will passed Squirrel a plate of cut fruit. "Breakfast."

Squirrel pushed her cloak aside to accept the plate, and thanked Will with a smile. She rose to her feet, trying to get the blood flow back into her arms and legs by pacing the length of the clipper. Cotton and Pintel - who'd taken the night shift - waved wearily at Will and Squirrel before heading below. Marty and Will had come to relieve them. Marty was checking the knots of the sail, and Will was moving for the tiller. Elizabeth was lying flat along the deck, staring up at the sky. She stretched her arms back, her fingers brushing the stern.

"There is hardly enough space down there," Elizabeth explained with a smile, "I'm all cramped up from last night."

Squirrel rolled her shoulders. "The same with me." She started picking at the fruit Will had brought her.

"It's good that it didn't rain last night." Elizabeth offered, tentatively. As though her words were a peace offering.

Squirrel half-laughed, though the laughter sounded brittle to her ears. "Yes, I would have really been in trouble!" Elizabeth smiled, looking somewhat relieved. Squirrel pretended not to see that expression, and sat down at the tiller bench. Will came and sat beside her. He brought with him Squirrel's cloak, leaving it on the bench for her. Squirrel thanked him with a glance. However, as she ate her breakfast, listening to the wind and the sea, Squirrel realised she was not thanking Will for her cloak. She was thanking him for the courtesy he'd shown.

Lying on the deck, Elizabeth slung one hand across her face, shielding her eyes from the morning sun.

Barbossa appeared, lounging on the steps that lead below decks. From where he sat, he was almost indistinguishable from the shadows.

"Morning, captain," Squirrel nodded.

"And good morning to ye, angel," Barbossa nodded back. He rolled his shoulders, looking out at the sky with a keen eye. "Looks a fair day ahead."

Squirrel eyed the clouds as well before replying, "It'll be windy." she popped a slice of breadfruit between her lips. "Good sailing weather."

Barbossa turned a lazy eye Squirrel's way. "Good huntin' weather, you mean?"

Will frowned. "Hunting weather?"

"Aye!" Barbossa's grin was ash-grey, but filled with mirth. "If we're to make the journey 'round Cape Horn, we'll need a vessel far surer than this fair lady." He slapped the planking with his hand. "We need to catch ourselves a sturdier ship." Seeing Will's resentful eyes, Barbossa made an amused moue and chuckled. "Don't worry, Mister Turner. I won't order ye t' take part in piracy if that's not your incline."

"I'll do whatever it takes," Will said stoically, then added begrudgingly, "Captain."

Elizabeth moved her hand from her eyes and stared at her fiancé, a ghost of a smile hovering around her lips and adoration in her eyes.

Barbossa nodded, respecting the man's decision. "So be it."

Squirrel continued to eat, watchful and silent; Barbossa closed his eyes and rested his head against the wood, seemingly dozing. The sea washed against the hull, and the wind filled the off-white sail. The _Artemis_ was making good time.

Elizabeth gently rose to a sitting position. "Why does he call you 'angel'?" She asked Squirrel, her voice in an undertone.

Squirrel grimaced, biting down on another piece of breadfruit. "I don't know," she shrugged, her voice likewise soft. She harboured no illusions about Barbossa's hearing. "I asked him not to, but it looks like it's stuck."

Elizabeth smiled prettily. "It suits you, Miss Grey."

Squirrel blinked. "You think?" She frowned, shaking her head. "No, not me."

"Why?" Elizabeth asked, "Because you're a pirate?"

Squirrel sighed heavily. "I suppose so." She hunched over her plate of fruit, eyes on the toes of her shoes.

Elizabeth glanced at Will, who half-shrugged in reply. In the small silence that followed, Squirrel thought herself safe, until Elizabeth asked in a small voice, "Did you do something you regret?"

Squirrel looked up, intending to bark angrily and destroy the illusion of civility that had been built between the two women. But then she saw the look in Elizabeth's eyes, the burden of pain and grief, and that angry retort was smothered by something else. Something green and bitter.

"Haven't we all?" Squirrel murmured, and turned away. On the horizon, her eye caught sight of what they'd been seeking. "Sail!" She called, rising to her feet, excitement suddenly coursing through her veins. "Sail off to starboard!"

Barbossa's eyes flashed open, and he rose quickly to his feet. The motion was too fluid, too swift, to have belonged to a sleepy old man. Barbossa was certainly more than he appeared. He peered around the door frame, one foot on the topmost step, a smile splitting his features: a smile of cunning, of a hunter sighting its prey.

"Well spotted, angel," Barbossa narrowed his eyes, not leaving the shadows. "A fine prize." He fitted the telescope to his eye and looked through the glass. "She's flying East India colours." With his grin still in place, Barbossa turned his attention to Will. "Any objection to bringin' this one down, Mister Turner?"

Will looked stubbornly at the horizon, his hand clenching tighter around the tiller handle. "Why should I have any objection, Barbossa?" Barbossa just grinned.

"We won't be able to chase her down," Elizabeth shaded her eyes, looking across the water. "They're too far away. Even if we had the weather gauge, they could easily outpace us. How are we supposed to catch it?"

Squirrel bit her lip, frowning thoughtfully out to sea. "Captain," she said slowly, "I have an idea."

Barbossa snapped the telescope shut and tilted his head still looking out to sea. "I'm listenin', angel."

"William is my brother." Squirrel said, the story coming together in her mind like a patchwork quilt. "And we were attacked by pirates. The pirates showed us mercy by putting me, my brother, and his fiancée to sea in this clipper - the clipper belonged to the pirates - but the rest of the crew… we don't know what happened to them. But we weren't left with many supplies. Miss Swann," Squirrel gestured to Elizabeth, who was listening with curious - if not agreeing - frown, "Is unwell from the lack of food and water." Squirrel grinned, looking to the horizon where the ship of the East India Trading Company drew ever closer. "After the shock of being attacked by pirates, we'll ever so grateful to our rescuers, especially when they pull alongside to bring us aboard."

Barbossa nodded, grinning. "So, if it's just you, your brother, and his fiancée, then the rest of us best keep ourselves below, aye?"

"Until we're right beside them." Squirrel passed her shanghai to Barbossa, but did so subtly. She wanted no movement to betray them as pirates to the vessel on the horizon. If Barbossa could see their flag through a glass at this distance, surely someone aboard the ship could see the passengers of the _Artemis_. She motioned for Elizabeth and Will to hand over their swords, but to keep them low. Elizabeth glanced to Will, seeking his guidance, his consent. Will nodded, but only after glancing at Squirrel for hers.

Barbossa grinned, approvingly, taking the weapons. "Ye've a real pirate's head on your shoulders, angel." He ducked back into the shadows to warn the others. "Do us proud."

"Aye, captain." Squirrel's eyes were fixed like stone on the tiny white sail in the distance.

Marty clambered down from the rigging. "Good luck!" He too vanished below.

"Does that…" Elizabeth looked to Squirrel, amused. "Does that mean he's left you in charge?"

Squirrel blinked, looking back to Elizabeth. The woman's words were not incorrect, but it took a moment for the impact of them to hit home. "I…" Squirrel didn't know whether to smile or frown. "I suppose he just did, yes."

"Very well then," Will said, sharing a smile with Elizabeth before looking to Squirrel, "What shall we do?"

Squirrel shaded her eyes against the glare of the sun. "You, Will, are the only one who can use the sail, seeing as you're the only man aboard." There was no bitterness in her voice, just matter-of-fact calculation. "We'll wait a while longer before we turn _Artemis_ towards her. We're not sailors, you see, so we won't spot her just yet. When we do, you're on the sails, and I'll call to her, try to get her attention."

"What should I do?" Elizabeth began to rise to her feet.

Squirrel motioned Elizabeth to stay where she was. "You're unwell, remember? Just stay there." She smirked. "You've fainted. Swooning from lack of water… Oh, and the heat!"

Elizabeth smiled back, nodding. She too remembered what Squirrel was referring to - a fight on the beach between three blades. "Of course." Elizabeth lay back down and closed her eyes, still smiling.

With a barely concealed grimace, Squirrel rose to her feet and crossed to the prow, staring out at the horizon. She couldn't deny that this was exciting - the thrill of the chase rang in her ears and danced in her marrow. Could this be done? Could a clipper with a ten-man crew take down a ship nearly five times the size? Anything was possible, and the hope that sang in Squirrel's veins was a siren that could not be ignored. The _Artemis_ was named after a huntress of old. Soon, the clipper would have her chance to prove herself worthy of the title of goddess of the hunt. But whether she was successful or not would depend on whether the _Artemis_' mask, her disguise, held. Squirrel chewed on her tongue and stared out over the water, rubbing her bandaged hand with restless fingers.

Will had followed her, and Squirrel heard him sigh shortly as he checked the sails. She looked to him, frowning. "What's wrong?"

"It doesn't feel right," Will muttered. "I am aware that we're criminals in the eyes of the law…"

"In the eyes of Beckett, you mean."

Will looked up with a surprised frown; he hadn't known Squirrel knew of Beckett. "Yes," he nodded. "But despite this, I would…" He sighed again, shaking his head. "I would rather not become what I despise." The muted venom in his voice made it plain to whom he was referring.

"William…" Squirrel glanced at Elizabeth, where she lay on the deck, and lowered her voice, "Now is not the time to have doubts or second thoughts. I understand, Will, but…" Her eyes held his, and his hers. "We have to do this." She gave him a reassuring, sympathetic smile, and set her voice to normal volume. "If it bothers you so much to be dishonest, Will, then just leave the talking to me." Will nodded, his conscience settled for the time being, then continued checking the sails. Squirrel turned back and stood on the prow, feet braced against the roll of the waves.

The _Artemis_ continued on her course, but her eyes were fixed on her prey. With a smile, she waited, patiently, for the opportune moment to strike.


	8. And Deception

**Disclaimer**: Heel-ya-ho, boys, let her go, boys…

**A/N**: Contains some spoilers and/or speculation, which means this chapter could be tweaked later on. Or maybe not, we'll see.

-**edit**- Fight scene lengthened thanks to Firebird13.

* * *

It had not been twenty minutes before the _Artemis_ had been spotted, and the ship on the horizon had turned to intercept her. Squirrel had shouted, waving her arms and her cloak in the air; Will had managed the sails, but pinned them like a lubber, hindering their progress; Elizabeth had lain on the deck, waiting with just as much impatience as the men below decks. 

The trading ship - a fair-sized, three-mast caravel - pulled up short, weighing anchor. Men in motley uniforms crowded the railing, curious and concerned. The wood of the ship looked thick and strong; her canvas was fresh; the men looked clean and healthy. They'd likely just come from port, refitted and restocked.

"Perfect." Squirrel's lip curled in a smile as she breathed the word.

"Ahoy!" One of the men called to her.

"Get some ropes! You, get the captain!"

"Hulloo! You a'right?"

Squirrel half-laughed, half-sobbed as she stood and looked up at the faces on the men on deck. "Thankyou! Thankyou!" She shed no tears, but her voice and the look in her eyes was enough more than enough to convince the watching men.

"Bring them aboard," a man in uniform barked, and sailors hurried to obey his orders.

Will appeared at Squirrel's side, head craned up. He looked to her briefly, concerned and a little dark-eyed. Squirrel just beamed back at him, then leant against him, one arm around his shoulder, as though she were embracing her brother.

"Don't give us away," she murmured into his ear.

"I won't," Will said stiffly in return.

Squirrel broke out of the embrace - both she and Will pinking a little - and turned back to the crew. Men were clambering down into the _Artemis_, smiling reassuringly.

"You alright, Miss?" One of them asked, removing his tricorn hat. He had a strong, honest face and youthful eyes. "Thomas Davison, first mate of the good ship _Diana_."

Squirrel's cultured British accent was very useful. "Sarah," Squirrel said, taking the man's hand and bobbing her head over it. "Sarah Fairfax." She turned and gestured to the stern of the _Artemis_, where Will was trying to lift an 'unconscious' Elizabeth into his arms. "My brother William, and his fiancée, Elizabeth." It would have been too risky to give either of them a _nom de guerre_. Squirrel's eyes lingered on the sight of Elizabeth in Will's arms, and she couldn't help but remember the sight that had broken her heart.

The first mate must have seen the look in Squirrel's eyes. "You don't approve of your brother's fiancée?" He asked softly.

Squirrel looked back, smiling, and tried to cover her tracks. With a slight shrug, she said, "I think my brother could do better." Then she sighed, and gave a helpless smile. "But he loves her, so who am I to judge?"

Thomas waved over his shoulder to some of the men. "Let's get them all aboard, lads." The men moved to help Will; Thomas offered his arm to Squirrel. Squirrel took it, looking up at the man with grateful and adoring eyes.

"Thankyou." Squirrel murmured, swaying on her feet, leaning more than was necessary on the first mate's arm. Thomas looked pleased, but tried to hide it.

"No trouble at all, Miss Fairfax," he said. "Come on, we'll get you aboard, get you and yours something to eat and drink, and then you can tell the captain what happened to you,." He noticed Squirrel's bandaged hand. "Good heavens, are you alright?"

"I am now." She nodded, her eyes lifted to the man.

Thomas nodded, a certain smile playing about his lips, then realised he was not alone - his men were watching, waiting. The first mate cleared his throat, and turned away from Squirrel. "Get her," he referred to Elizabeth, "On a stretcher, and get Joseph to take a look at her, and Sarah's hand too." Thomas turned to Will. "Your sister and fiancée'll be in good hands, Mr Fairfax, don't you worry. Joseph's the best doctor this side of the Atlantic."

Will bobbed his head, wearily. "Thankyou." He looked to Squirrel, and gently set a hand on her shoulder as he passed, just as any concerned brother would. But there was an undertone that Squirrel picked up on. _You'd better know what you're doing. And you'd better be careful doing it_.

Elizabeth was laid out on a stretcher and lifted up onto the deck by a handful of men hauling on ropes; Will climbed up after her, the concern in his eyes unfeigned. Several men knotted together a handful of ropes, creating a makeshift seat for Squirrel. Squirrel was impressed by their practicality.

"Mind yourself, Miss Sarah," Thomas said, concerned, helping sit her down. "Wouldn't want to hurt that hand of yours any more than it is." He gave the word, and Squirrel in her 'seat' was heaved into the air, ready to bring her onto the deck.

Squirrel's thanks and gratitudes were profuse, but she was silently taking stock of everything. The shape of the hull. The condition of and the number of sails. The level of the ship in the water. The number of cannon ports. The number of men aboard. All of these things told her how valuable the ship was to the East India Trading Company, and much of a fight they might have to make to capture her.

Someone passed her a canteen of water, and Squirrel swigged at it, more than grateful - in order to further the illusion, they'd not eaten or drunk anything since the _Diana_ had been spotted on the horizon. Sailing under full sun was hard work in itself. She was damned thirsty, and took what they gave her. But she wouldn't eat anything. Not yet. She had some talking to do.

The water was fresh, as was the bread and fruit that was being passed their way. Fresh supplies and a beautiful, well-equipped ship? The _Diana_ was looking more and more like the prefect prize as time went by.

"Thankyou," she gasped, after emptying the canteen and passing it back. "Thankyou." She sat down on the deck, beside Will and Elizabeth, who was beginning to 'revive', and exchanged relieved and thankful glances with her 'brother' and the crew that gathered around them, offering them food and drink.

"Mister Fairfax," a man in uniform broke through the crowd of curious crewmen. "I'm compelled to ask what you and two young ladies are doing so far out at sea in such a condition." From the way he held himself, and from the way the men straightened themselves upon his arrival, this man was the captain of the vessel. There was a v-shaped scar on the side of his throat, and an arrogance in the way he held himself. Squirrel disliked the man immediately, though she couldn't give herself a good enough reason for it.

Will looked up, burdened and tired. "Pirates," he murmured, stroking Elizabeth's hair. His voice was hoarse and strained. "We were attacked by pirates."

That set the crew to murmuring. But the captain waited, stoic and unmoving. Squirrel thought it rude - and somewhat suspicious - that the captain did not introduce himself, but she said nothing. This game would play out until its ultimate conclusion.

'Sarah' bit her lip, then picked up where Will had left off. "We were three days out of Kingston, heading for Port Royal," she explained, eyes liquid with what she knew would appear to be memories. "On a ship a little smaller than this one." She clutched her hand close to her, as though a nervous reflex. "They came out of nowhere, and…" 'Sarah' bowed her head again, still biting her lip. "They… k-killed the captain… and the crew…" From out of the corner of her eye, Squirrel could see crewmen shaking their head, eyes hard, muttering to each other. "They wanted to keep us for ransom. But we wouldn't cooperate with them. So they…" 'Sarah' rubbed the bandages on her left hand, unable to finish, prompting a pained look from the first mate. "They put us in that boat and sailed off. Leaving us." Squirrel looked over the railing, to where the tip of the _Artemis_' sail could just be seen. She had to signal Barbossa somehow. Somehow. But how, when everyone was watching?

"Where did the clipper come from?" The captain asked, still unmoved.

'Sarah' looked up at him, perplexed. "That boat? It's the same one they attacked us with."

"That's what they do," Thomas seconded, with the silent support of the angered crew, "Seen it before, Captain. Pirates'll often want bigger ships. Fresh cargo and all that. They'll use small ships to catch what they want, trick ships into coming close." He looked to Squirrel, sympathetic and caring. Squirrel almost felt guilty at having to use this man, at playing with his emotions. Almost.

"Thankyou for that, Davidson." The captain's expression did not change; Thomas fell back into silence. The captain stared long and hard at Squirrel, then turned his gaze to Will and Elizabeth. Squirrel felt herself sweating under the man's stare - would the captain of the _Diana_ see through their disguise?

_Heaven help us if he does_.

Finally, the captain nodded. "Get your strength back. Once we reach the next port, we'll put you off, and you can make your way back to Kingston."

'Sarah' nodded, smiling gratefully, relieved and safe. But Squirrel was laughing. This game had been all too easy to play. But then she paused as the captain's words sank in. "But… Captain, we're headed for Port Royal. We're visiting family there."

The captain shook his head. "The waters of the Caribbean are hardly safe any more," he stated flatly, "And Port Royal is no longer a place for such as yourselves." He turned to the crew. "Thomas, see to them." With head held high and shoulders back, the captain left the deck, shutting the door to his cabin with a slam.

Will and Squirrel exchanged puzzled and worried glances. Port Royal was no longer safe? When had this happened? And for what reason? Lying on the deck, Elizabeth opened her eyes briefly, conveying her alarm and her near-panicked query. Her father was in Port Royal. Squirrel understood, and turned to the fresh-faced first mate, wearing a mask of innocence.

"Mr Davison," she asked, "Why isn't Port Royal safe anymore?"

As the crewmen scattered to go about their tasks, Thomas crossed to the gathered 'family' and stood before them; Squirrel rose to her feet in order to be eye level with him. "Well," the first mate said, looking dark, "The fact of the matter is that Port Royal's in pirates' hands now."

The 'unconscious' Elizabeth jolted slightly, unable to mask her concern. Will glanced at Squirrel quickly before attempting to appear concerned about his fiancée's health.

"What do you mean?" Sarah asked, eyes wide. "Port Royal is where the governor lives!"

Thomas nodded, the smile leaving his eyes for once. "Aye, that's true enough. But since Cutler Beckett," he paused, then amended, "Pardon me, since _Lord_ Cutler Beckett came in and took over, the port's been a haven for pirates. They've come from near and far for a pardon from his lordship, and have made the town their home. Everyone knows that Beckett's the real power on Port Royal. The governor's become little more than a puppet."

Elizabeth gave a feeble croak; she was going to break out of her disguise and ruin everything. Will picked up one of the canteens of water and continued to play his role of caring fiancé, but there was undisguised anger in his eyes - anger directed at the name of that lord.

Thomas looked at Elizabeth in concern. "She has family there, does she?"

'Sarah' nodded, giving the truth for once. "I'm afraid so."

Thomas sighed. "Then it's a nasty business for you all. Hopefully her family got out in time. They might be waiting for you in Tortuga."

Will looked up, just as startled as Squirrel, but he was able to find his voice first. "Tortuga?"

"Aye," Thomas nodded. "That's where all those men, women and children have fled to for safety. And why not? Seeing as how all the pirates have headed to Port Royal, the town's near deserted. And what with the French garrison moving in, it's well-protected."

"Well-protected from what?" Squirrel asked, her question nearly breaking the role she'd created, "And why is Lord Beckett pardoning pirates?"

Thomas heaved a sigh, then motioned for Squirrel to sit down. He crouched down beside her, looking from Will to Squirrel in equal turns, as if preparing them for the worst. "Lord Beckett," he said slowly, carefully, "Has made himself a fleet made from former pirates. Privateers, they all are now. These men fly the flag of the East India Trading Company, raiding, pillaging and looting without retribution. And all they have to do in return is pay Beckett a percentage." Thomas frowned darkly. "It's a nasty business, it is."

Squirrel saw again in her mind's eye the face of the man she supposed was Cutler Beckett. His hard eyes and cruel smile sent shivers down Squirrel's spine. _And now you've got what you wanted, haven't you_, she thought, fighting to keep her lips from forming the words. _Power. The world in your hands. And enough men under your command to make that dream a reality. Bravo_.

"That's impossible," Will murmured, hatred burning brighter in his eyes. "Pirates are not that well-organised, nor are they honourable enough to keep their word." He - very tactfully, Squirrel thought - did not look at the woman he held in his arms. "So why should these men honour the pardon that Beckett has given them?"

Thomas nodded, agreeing with Will's anger. "Men who serve fearfully, but are well-rewarded for their service, seldom break free. They're too afraid - and too well-paid - to leave." Thomas shrugged. "Besides, they're allowed to do as they please without repercussion. That's a fair sight better than living on the fringe, fearful of being prey, I would imagine."

"Well, who are they commanded by, that this scum of the sea should obey so completely and unquestioningly?"

"The head captain is an evil half-man called Davy Jones," Thomas said, frowning. "He flies the flagship of the fleet: a ghost ship called the _Flying Dutchman_. But under Beckett's command is a man in charge of the whole damn fleet of pirates, leading with an iron fist and a cold black heart. Admiral James Norrington."

Will and Elizabeth both froze hearing the name, incredulous and disbelieving. But Squirrel - who had had a warning, who had expected this - kept her face a careful mask. She made sure that Thomas' eyes never left her own. She made sure that Thomas only saw the play unfolding before him, and not the cracks that were beginning to appear in the players' masks._ Norrington. So, you've got your life back, have you? Beckett must have been pleased with the gift you brought him. I hope you're proud to be on that man's leash._

Thomas sighed, then offered a sad smile to the 'Fairfax' family. "Waters aren't safe anymore. Puts decent hardworking men like us," he pointed at the East India Trading Company flag that fluttered in the rigging above them, "To shame, really."

Squirrel felt a twinge of misgiving, an attack from her overly emotional conscience. She appeased herself by asking, "But… you still work for Beckett?"

Thomas nodded with a sigh. "Aye. But we're not pirates, Miss Fairfax, don't you worry about that. Decent, respectable men of the Company." He looked out to sea, wistful. "What I wouldn't give to be off this vessel and starting my own life away from all this mess…" He smiled slightly at 'Sarah'.

"Chree-acck!"

Startled by the familiar sound of the monkey's cry, Squirrel found herself leaping to her feet. The crewmen of the _Diana_ were also likewise startled, especially since the animal that had made the cry suddenly leapt down out of the rigging, fangs bared, onto one of the men's heads. It scratched and hissed, then leapt away before it could be pinned down.

The crewmen were galvanised into action. "Someone grab it!"

"That little blighter nearly bit me!"

"First man to catch him, keeps him!"

The crew leapt and darted after the small animal, who merely leapt and darted out of harm's way, scurrying along the deck. The crewmen who did not chase after the monkey merely cheered on their friends, laughing at near-misses and slip-ups. Thomas looked to Squirrel and Will.

"Where did that come from?" He asked, curious.

'Sarah' didn't know how to react. "I don't know." She said quickly. Inside, Squirrel was seething. _I'm going to kill that monkey. I'm going to find some loophole in the curse, and I'm going to KILL it_. The monkey's appearance had ruined everything, everything that Squirrel had planned. She continued to watch the leaping primate, keeping the malice from her eyes, and then slowly realised something.

The 'Fairfaxes' had all but been forgotten. The monkey was distracting the _Diana_'s crew, leading them to the port-side stern. The monkey had been sent as a distraction. All eyes were on that bundle of fur and the men who tried to catch them.

There were no eyes on the _Artemis_.

"Someone catch it!"

"This in't as easy as it looks!"

"Come on, Steven, gettit! S'just a monkey!"

"A silver piece says it gets away from 'im again."

"No bet… Ha! Told you!"

Squirrel closed her eyes and listened to the ship - below her, the second watch seemed to be rousing, wondering what all the noise was on deck. There were certainly the sounds of heavy footsteps. The waves splashed gently against the prows of the clipper and the caravel. The hulls of the _Diana_ and the _Artemis_ bumped against each other, jostling for space. But these jostlings happened against the waves, against the gentle tug of the wind and the tide. Someone - or some _people_ - were responsible for the ships' movements. The pirates were coming aboard.

Squirrel opened her eyes, and found herself staring down the barrel of a pistol.

"Alright, Jack," Barbossa laughed, "That's enough for now."

The monkey scurried away from the men and clambered up onto its master's shoulder, seeming to laugh mockingly at the crewmen. The crew all froze, the merriment gone out of the day. Thomas stared at 'Sarah', horrified and alarmed, but he could do nothing to help her. There were two pirates on her, one with a pistol in her face and another with a knife at her throat. She couldn't move.

Squirrel's fear was genuine, though for different reasons. She stared at Barbossa's back. _What are you doing? _The story she'd made, the play she'd concocted, was falling apart. _What are you doing?!_

"Gents," Barbossa called, holding a pistol in each hand in a relaxed manner, "Drop your swords, knives, guns, bayonets and whatever else ye think ye could use against us." One of Barbossa's arms swung lazily to his left, until he was pointing it at Elizabeth's head. He clicked the flint, and every man aboard winced. "Now."

Steel clattered onto the deck. The crew men stared, silent and accusing: at the 'Fairfaxes', as though they were to blame; at the pirates, for their silent attack; at each other, for not being alert or prepared. Pintel's grip on Squirrel's shoulder tightened, and Ragetti giggled faintly. Inside, Squirrel cheered, celebrating with them. But she kept her face panicked.

Thomas looked to 'Sarah', hurt. "You're with them, aren't you?"

"Now, now," Barbossa chuckled, "There's no need t' be like that." He grinned down the length of his arm at Elizabeth and Will, and motioned to Squirrel over his shoulder. "The Fairfaxes 'ere 'ave more'n one use. True, we're keepin' 'em for ransom, but they make for excellent decoys. Don't ye think?" Thomas made to leap forward, but Barbossa's pistol swung around. Squirrel couldn't help but flinch at the second gun in her face. She met Thomas's eyes, and looked away, as though shamed and apologetic. And she was, a little. But more so she was trying to hold her mask in place. The looks on the _Diana_'s crewmen's faces were worth their weight in gold.

"Do as ye're told," Barbossa warned. "I don't need all of 'em alive t' collect th' ransom, but it'd be nice to keep the family in one piece."

Thomas scowled, unbuckling the sword at his belt. "You'll hang for this."

Barbossa chortled. "Ye'll 'ave t' catch us first."

Gibbs, Marty and Cotton brandished their cutlasses and pistols as they rose from below deck. "All accounted for, cap'n," Gibbs reported, wearing what was either a fearsome scowl or a pained grimace. "There're some convenient cells down below."

"Good man," Barbossa nodded, cocking his second pistol. "Now, gents." He addressed the crewmen, "If ye'll be so kind, my first mate will see to it that ye're safely stowed below. Then, once we get into port, we'll let ye off, no harm done."

The crew looked to each other, muttering, startled by this offer. "You're not going to kill us?" Someone called.

Barbossa threw back his head and laughed. "What?" He asked, "And get blood all over this beautiful ship's decking? Ye must be out of your mind!" He waved with his pistols for the crew to go below. "I hope ye don't find it too crowded down there. The alternative is slightly more… unpleasant." He smiled, gesturing with his pistols again to emphasise his point.

Mr Cotton's parrot fluttered out of the rigging, perching Pintel's shoulder. "Dead men tell no tales," it rasped. The men got the point, even more so.

Thomas spared one glance to Squirrel before being lead away - it was one of understanding, sympathy, forgiveness. Somehow, his forgiveness made it both easier and harder to have betrayed his trust. Squirrel let out a sigh as the first mate vanished below. But there was little time to be spent on self-pity or guilt - the _Diana_ was theirs!

"Kep-ten," Tia appeared at the railing, looking around with a proud smile, "Yeh did wheel. Still as sharp as ehvah." Barbossa smirked. Tia looked towards the captain's quarters, then stepped back out of sight behind the mast. "Dere's only one more t'ing dat needs t' be done."

As if summoned by Tia's words, the _Diana_'s captain strode out from his cabin, a pistol in one hand and a cutlass in the other. He sneered, lifting his pistol and taking aim at Barbossa. Then, with almost nonchalant ease, he fired. Squirrel screamed.

The monkey leapt from Barbossa's shoulder, into the path of the bullet. With an agonised screech, the poor creature tumbled to the deck, flopping about like a landed fish, before finally coming to a complete standstill. And then, it did not move.

But Barbossa did.

The _Diana_'s captain barely had time to lift his sword and parry Barbossa's blade. The man in black moved swiftly. Very swiftly. The nameless captain was hard-pressed keeping up.

Squirrel watched, fascinated, as Barbossa's sword sang through the air, clashing and clattering against his enemy's blade. He moved so gracefully, so elegantly. It was as though Barbossa were dancing. Simple, spare movements - the flick of a wrist, a bend of a knee, the turn on a heel - produced powerful and fluid strokes of the silver blade. In comparison, the _Diana_'s captain moved clumsily, stiltedly, woodenly. He was no match for Barbossa, even though he seemed to be a good twenty years younger. Barbossa's age was deceptive - he was in no way a frail old man.

The monkey rose from where it lay, shaking itself off and looking miffed. It was, of course, unharmed. It scrambled over to Squirrel and climbed up onto her shoulder, chirping. But Squirrel did not notice - she just continued to stare as Barbossa fought with the _Diana_'s captain. Barbossa's sword sang with such grace, such control. "Beautiful," Squirrel mouthed the word, too in awe to speak.

While the _Diana_'s captain was obviously no slouch with a blade, and seemed well-trained, Barbossa had years of experience on his side. Not to mention that the only rules that Barbossa played by were the rules of what a man can or cannot do. And Barbossa could kill the man, if he chose. The captain thrust his blade at Barbossa's chest; Barbossa stood, steady as a rock, and slapped the captain's blade aside, then turned on his heel and swung the blade in a lazy arc through the air. The unnamed captain lifted his sword to parry, and staggered under the weight of the blow. The two men came face-to-face.

"Ye're out of your league," Barbossa grinned. The captain grunted, not even deigning to reply to a pirate, and pushed Barbossa back. Barbossa stood and waited, his sword held ready.

The _Diana_'s captain stepped back, legs braced firmly and blade held loosely in one hand in a fencing stance, expecting his opponent to do the same. But Barbossa rushed him; his blade sang through the air, from high above Barbossa's head on the right to the deck on the left. The captain staggered aside to avoid being slashed in half. Barbossa could have drawn the blade back across the captain's unprotected neck or back, ending the fight then and there, but chose to step away. He was grinning all the while, taunting the _Diana_'s captain.

"Fight like a man, damn you!"

Barbossa shrugged. "Very well." He rolled his head on his shoulders, cracking the joints, then leapt forward, his blade twirling in the air. The _Diana_'s captain could barely parry; his eyes were wide in alarm and fear, and sweat was dripping down his face. Barbossa's face was impassive, save for the grin he wore. His blade rose and fell, again and again, cutting from above and from left and right, and the _Diana_'s captain could not even lift his blade to fight in return. Barbossa moved too swiftly, too strongly, too surely; for a man who had learned his moves from a teacher and fought like a gentleman, there could be no victory.

Yet Barbossa had not drawn blood once. His fight was with the man's blade alone.

Barbossa stepped back, and the _Diana_'s captain roared and stabbed forward with his blade, thinking to run Barbossa through. Barbossa lifted his sword arm and spun, and his elbow caught the captain in the throat. The captain staggered, coughing and gasping; Barbossa stood and watched, patiently, until the captain got his breath. And then he stepped forward and levelled his blade at the captain's throat. The captain was panting and sweating and gasping for air; Barbossa stood calm and still, unmoved by the fury that had poured out from him only a moment earlier. Barbossa could keep on fighting for much longer, if he desired. And the unnamed captain could not.

"I yield!" The captain cried, throwing down his sword with a pained grimace. "I yield."

Barbossa looked amused. "Yielding to a pirate?" He circled the _Diana_'s captain like a shark, sword levelled at the man's throat. "Are ye really?"

The _Diana_'s captain winced. "I am outmatched, and my men are captured. I stand no chance. I yield."

"Yieldin's naught but a fancy word for surrender," Barbossa said, standing before his foe. "So I'll ask again. Are ye surrenderin' t' me?"

The captain of the _Diana_ scowled. "I surrender. The ship is yours."

Barbossa backed off, sheathing his sword. "Thankye kindly, sir," he smiled. "My men will now escort ye below."

Squirrel felt Pintel and Ragetti leave her side, and collapsed to the deck in what might have appeared to be a woman's relieved swooning. The monkey clambered into her lap and purred, demanding to be petted, but Squirrel did not lift her hand to comply. The curtain hadn't fallen yet. Not on this play.

The _Diana_'s captain glowered at Barbossa as he was led away. "Mark me, pirate, and mark me well: no matter where you go, no matter where you try to hide, I will find you and I will kill you. I will see you hang for this."

Barbossa wore the same patient smile he had worn when Squirrel had voiced her disapproval of the voyage. This pirate was not affected by threats or vows. "Of course," Barbossa smiled, unconvinced and amused, "I wouldn't expect anythin' less of ye. But I say the same thing I told your first mate: ye'll have t' catch us first." He watched as Pintel and Ragetti led the _Diana_'s captain below, then turned back to the 'hostages', eyes glinting.

"Fairfax," he chuckled. "Where on earth did ye get 'Fairfax' from, angel?"

Squirrel grinned, heaving herself to her feet, shifting the monkey to her left arm. "I have no idea." She reached back, offering a hand to Will, but it was Elizabeth took it. Squirrel pulled the woman to her feet with a friendly smile, but she fought against rising hackles as she did so.

"Deh _Diana_ is oors," Tia purred, walking across the deck with a swish of her golden dress. She looked out over the sea. She pointed out over the water, southwards. "If we follow deh current, we'll reach a poort this evenin'. Den we can leave dose see-lahs behind, and 'ead east, across deh Atlantic." The sibyl moved to the railing and lifted her face to the sun.

Barbossa grinned. "Well, then, looks like we've a ship to prepare. You lot head below, start sortin' out what we need." He scooped up a green apple from the deck, one of the gifts from the _Diana_'s crewmen, and admired it wryly. "Jus' make sure you're not seen or heard by our hostages. Wouldn't want them to get the wrong idea."

Will nodded, blank-faced, and led Elizabeth below. Squirrel remained on deck. Barbossa watched her, eyes sparkling with a smile, as he bit into the apple.

This same time yesterday, Squirrel had voiced how foolish she thought the venture. She'd worried about the possibility of their survival, without even considering that things were not set in stone. The _Artemis_ was a means to an end, not the end itself. The _Diana_ was the ship they'd needed, the ship that would get them around the Cape, and perhaps further. Squirrel now saw the depth of her folly. She'd taken what she'd seen and given up. But if she'd looked harder, she would have seen what had already been prepared. The _Artemis_ was only the beginning, the first tentative step. They'd a captain who was a master at forward planning… and a woman who dabbled in something a little more potent.

"This was planned," Squirrel said softly. "All of it."

"Aye," Barbossa nodded, glancing at Tia. "It was."

"Then I owe you an apology," Squirrel sighed. "I lost my temper, and I said some stupid things. I'm sorry for doubting."

"Ye're only human, Miss Grey," the captain smiled at her. "Ye're more'n welcome to those doubts."

Squirrel sighed, shaking her head at her own foolishness. "I should have at least thought before I spoke."

"A lesson, no doubt, ye've learned for the future," Barbossa said, lifting his eyes to the horizon and taking a deep breath of sea air. "Let's on our way."

She turned to the port side, to say farewell to the _Artemis_, that little clipper that had brought them faithfully thus far. It seemed a shame to have freed her from her mangrove prison only to abandon her now. She deserved at least one word of farewell.

But the _Artemis_ was gone.

Squirrel stared out over the water, alarmed and confused. She scanned the sea, looked back behind the _Diana_'s wash; she looked out to the horizon; she looked everywhere, her sharp eyes narrowed for any possible sign. There was no sight of the clipper. The ropes that had moored it to the _Diana_ hung loose and trailed in the water forlornly. There was no sign of where the _Artemis_ had gone - she had simply vanished.

"Where is she?" Squirrel asked, not knowing if anyone could hear her. "Where's the _Artemis_?"

Tia looked at Squirrel over her shoulder, then smiled back out at the sea.

**

* * *

A/N**: Anyone who picks up on the significance of the ships' names gets a cookie. 

-**edit**- Kudos goes to Firebird13 for pointing out how short the fight was, and for making me write more of it. Fight scene between Barbossa and the captain is now longer. Cookie for you.


	9. Blame and Mistrust

**Disclaimer**: Punished, I'd be… disproportionate to my crime… should I not make sure that Disney gets its due.

**A/N**: Not much to say for now. Just like to thank jla2snoopy for pointing out Squirrel's unusual lack of self-loathing, which I had almost forgotten about.

* * *

Three longboats - filled with silent angry men - cut across the water to a silent sleeping port town. The crew of the _Diana_ had some belongings and their weapons returned to them, but Squirrel, Will and Elizabeth had been suitably threatened by the pirates in order to convince the crew to leave without causing trouble. They'd find a way back to Beckett, and warn him eventually, but not fast enough. There were no large ships moored in this ten-hut fishing village. The _Diana_ would reach Africa long before her former crew would find a ship to reach Port Royal. 

"Well done, everyone," Barbossa said softly as the longboats were swallowed up by the night. "A fine job, all of ye." He squeezed Squirrel's shoulder in congratulations, then released both her and the flint of his pistol and tucked the gun back into his belt. "Now," he said, turning to face the other nine members of the crew, "Shall we get underway?"

The men moved to their prospective tasks, scrambling up into the rigging or checking the ropes on the deck. Squirrel turned away from the sea, and looked up at the stars and the rigging. She was earth-bound; deck-bound, rather. Her wounded hand prevented her from climbing. She could have no duties here. Not up high in the cool night air she loved, not looking out to sea from the top of the mast. Not for a few more weeks. With a small sigh, Squirrel bowed her head and made to go below.

She caught sight of Elizabeth, staring out to the west. Back to where Port Royal lay.

"Are you alright, Miss Swann?"

Elizabeth made a wince which was supposed to be a smile. "Yes."

Squirrel stood by her side, knowing the reason Elizabeth forced that smile. "You're worried about your father?"

Elizabeth bit her lip, trying to keep strong, but then she nodded. "And about my home. And about…"

"Admiral James Norrington."

Elizabeth gave a choked bark of laughter - it might have been a sob. "I never would have thought… He's not like this. It has to be a lie. It has to be. He wouldn't do this."

"People change sometimes," Squirrel said, looking out over the waves, her eyes just as dark as the sky above them. "People can surprise you with what they're capable of. Betrayal, for one." Something inside her - already hard and cold - clenched even tighter.

"But why?" Elizabeth shook her head, agonised. "Why would he do this?"

"He wanted his life back, remember?" Squirrel recalled that sunny beach; years ago, it seemed, though it had only been four days past. "He would have done anything to regain what he'd lost."

"But to make a deal with Beckett?" There was anger in her eyes now. "That's not like James."

"How well did you know him?" Squirrel said, leaning on the railing and looking straight at Elizabeth. "I know you were set to marry him, but how well did you know him?"

Elizabeth looked awkward - and pained. Squirrel smiled inwardly, knowing she'd touched a nerve.

Her golden hair fell over her face as she bowed her head and clutched the railing. "I thought he was a good man," Elizabeth murmured.

Squirrel's good hand clenched into a fist, a fist so tight her knuckles showed white through it. "Norrington wasn't a bally hero, Miss Swann. He was obsessed." Elizabeth looked to Squirrel, alarmed at the angered passion in her voice. Squirrel pulled herself up. "You know he chased us all over the Atlantic? At first, it seemed just like what a proper naval officer should do: chase after a criminal and bring him to justice. But when he pushed himself - not to mention his ship and his men - past the point of normality, even we were scared by him. His ambition consumed him." Squirrel shook his head, gentling her tone somewhat. "Miss Swann, he might have been a hero once, but he's not now."

Elizabeth pursed her lips, looking pained, but did not disagree. She looked out over the black water again, sighing. "He might be again, someday."

"I doubt it."

Will appeared on Elizabeth's left, checking one of the ratlines. "Norrington wouldn't have been able to become an admiral without something Beckett wanted." He looked flatly at the two women. "At first, Beckett wanted the compass, but only because it led to the heart."

Elizabeth sucked in breath with a hiss. "So that's why Davy Jones is working for Beckett! Because Beckett has his heart!"

Will nodded, eyes angry and determined. "And Norrington must have given it to him."

Elizabeth frowned. "But how?" Her raised voice had attracted the attention of the rest of the crew, who were by now all pretending to work but were subtly eavesdropping. "How," Elizabeth asked, "Was he able to get the heart to Beckett? How did he even get a hold of the heart in the first place?"

Squirrel looked down at the water made white by the _Diana_'s progress and said nothing. Her gut was rolling, and a cold wave was bearing down over her.

_Get back, luv! Stay with the boat!_

She licked her lips and tried to moisten the inside of her suddenly-dry mouth.

Will scowled. "The key was in the chest," he said. "And Norrington was just leaving the boat as I arrived. He must have taken it when no-one was looking."

"But then, why would he take the chest as well? If it was empty…"

"A decoy," Squirrel murmured, voice faint. "The chest was a decoy."

Will nodded. "Jack thought the heart was in his jar of dirt, Davy Jones' men - and us, as well - thought the heart was still in the chest… but only Norrington knew where it really was." He folded his arms. "Norrington took the chest to look like he was saving us, but in reality he was only saving himself. He probably let Davy Jones' men take the chest from him once he was out of our sight. He would have seemed like he was surrendering, but in fact… he had what he wanted."

Squirrel's mouth twisted. _I have to play cards with the former commodore someday_, she thought, lips moving to form the words. _It'd be an interesting game_.

Elizabeth looked to Squirrel. "You knew, didn't you?"

Squirrel jumped, electrified by guilt. "Me?"

Will's eyes widened, but Elizabeth continued, "Of course. That's why you were trying to get Jack's attention, when he was bargaining with Jones. You knew the heart was gone."

Squirrel bowed her head, sighing in defeat - inwardly, it was relief. She wouldn't be blamed for this. "I only realised once we reached the _Pearl_."

Will tilted his head, thoughtful; Elizabeth looked at Squirrel, remembering. "That's why you said we should have gone back. You knew Norrington had taken it."

"I figured it out," Squirrel said, her words flat. "But too late."

"And here we all are." Will sighed. The three of them looked out over the water.

Squirrel did not see the ocean - her vision was directed inwards. _If I'd stayed with the boat, would it have made any difference? I can't change the past - but if I had stayed with the boat… would Norrington still have taken the heart? Is it really my fault that… that pirate died?_

_No_, she set her mouth firmly, pushing the thought away. _No, it's not. He shouldn't have made that stupid deal with Davy Jones in the first place. There's a cost to everything. And he finally had to pay up_. _It's not my fault. I'm not to blame for this_. She glanced at the woman standing next to her. _Not at all_.

"The last I saw of my father," Elizabeth said faintly, rousing from a half-trance, "He was saving my life. But now…"

Will's eyes widened again. "He freed you from jail?"

Elizabeth turned her liquid eyes to her fiancé. "Yes. But it seems that now he's a prisoner in my place, all because of what he did for me."

Squirrel looked between the two of them. Will was looking down, over the water, sympathetic realisation blooming in his eyes; his shoulders twitched slightly. Elizabeth was taking shaky breaths, trying to control her tears.

"They called him a puppet," Elizabeth was hurting badly.

"Your father must have sacrificed his influence to Beckett." Will reached for Elizabeth, but his hand hovered just over her shoulder. After a second's hesitation, he lowered his hand, having never touched her.

"But why?" Elizabeth frowned, a tear spilling down her cheek. "Why would he do that? Why would he give rule of Port Royal over to the man who imprisoned me? Who threatened to hang us both?"

"Elizabeth," Squirrel interrupted. "Does your father love you?"

Miss Swann turned to Squirrel, eyes wide and surprised. Will, standing on Elizabeth's left, mirrored his fiancée's movement and expression, although he was unaware that he did so. Both Mister Turner and Miss Swann stared at Squirrel, mouth's half-open and eyes wide. Will remained perfectly still, his hand reaching for the dagger at his belt as a reminder of his father; Elizabeth nodded, unable to find words.

"Then that should be reason enough," Squirrel kept her face steady, but she could feel some kind of an ache deep inside of her. Something shivered through her mind, a fleeting image of a bloody sword and a dress even bloodier. "If you father loves you," Squirrel said, "Then he would do anything to see that you are kept safe. He would do anything to free you. He loves you, and therefore he is willing to sacrifice what he has - what he is - for you." Squirrel's eyes flickered to Will briefly, then settled back on Elizabeth. "Because you're his daughter."

Will smiled faintly, clearly understanding the hidden meanings of Squirrel's words; Elizabeth saw the words only at face value, but smiled nonetheless.

"Thankyou, Miss Grey." She nodded. "Yes. Yes, you're right." She took a steadying breath, and grew stronger for it.

Squirrel looked down at her bandaged hand. "You two are very lucky to still have your parents alive," she said. "You'll see them again, eventually."

"I thought you said you didn't believe in luck," Will said, smiling fondly.

Squirrel pulled a face at him. "Slip of the tongue, William."

His eyes sparkled at her in merriment which was quickly smothered in understanding. _This is why you vowed to save my father? Because you have no family of your own?_ Squirrel said nothing, but Will was almost right.

"What happened to your own family?" Elizabeth asked, tentatively.

Squirrel's eyes flickered, and she shifted on the spot. The bloodstained dress billowed empty in her mind once more, pierced by that blade. The face of her uncle, his hand looming over her: _You'll be livin' wiv' us from now on, an' I expect you to earn your keep_. A shallow grave, marked only with a young girl's clumsily-made driftwood cross.

"They were murdered," she whispered. Voicing what she'd dreaded for years.

Elizabeth went rigid, eyes wide with horror. "I'm so sorry! I didn't know!" Will stared - Squirrel could hear his sympathetic heartbeat from where she stood.

"How d'ye know that?" Barbossa asked, as soft as his approaching footfalls had been.

"I don't know how I know," Squirrel murmured, half-facing the man in black. "But I just do."

"Maybe ye saw them die." The suggestion might have been cold and callous, coming from anyone else. But from a man who had tasted death, who had been part of that dark dreaming, it seemed almost kind.

Squirrel shook her head, right hand holding tight to the rail. "No. I think I'd remember something like that."

Barbossa tilted his head, a faint kind of smile appearing. "Ye'd remember your own name too, surely?"

Squirrel opened her mouth to retort, but no words came. There was no defence against the truth. "Hrm." She shrugged. "Then maybe you're right."

"Or maybe I'm wrong." Barbossa bit into the apple he held.

Will cleared his throat, and made a quarter-bow - to whom, it wasn't certain - to excuse himself. "I should find out where the crew's quarters are."

"Ye do that," Barbossa said, unsmiling for once. "Miss Swann, Miss Dalma and Squirrel here need separate quarters from the rest of the men. I'll leave the task of organising that in your capable hands, Mister Turner." Will bowed again, and departed, stiff-backed. Elizabeth spared Squirrel one final glance - a glance that was both grateful for her words of support and sympathetic for Squirrel's past - before trailing after Will.

Squirrel turned to go as well, but Barbossa gently blocked her path.

"Seein' as how ye're still on the mend," he said, "Ye won't be doin' so much, I imagine."

"I can't climb," Squirrel shrugged, agreeing with him, "So I can't be much of a lookout. And to cook you need both hands."

Barbossa's lips quirked upward. "So that just leaves ye with 'occasional quartermaster', then." His comment received a brief smile in return. "I trust ye'll be able to keep tallies and notes and such?"

Squirrel nodded. "I'm right-handed, so there'll be no problem with that." She paused a moment. "Should… should I go to that now?"

Barbossa looked out to sea for a moment, then back to Squirrel. "Actually, I've a favour t' ask ye, and I hope it's not too much t' ask." Squirrel waited, patient. The man in black looked out to sea again. "Back on Pelegosta, I got to know the rest of the crew a little better. While they cleaned the _Artemis_ and readied her for the sea, I spoke to them, mostly to give orders or to wish them well." Barbossa went silent for a moment. "While they treat me as respectfully as any crew should treat a captain…" He looked to her, his blue eyes rueful. "You, angel, are the only one who can look me in the eye and not flinch."

Squirrel waited, not knowing what to say.

Barbossa half-sighed, then made an elegant, sweeping bow. "Would ye do me the honour of havin' dinner with me tonight?"

* * *

"Here, lass," Gibb said, proffering a spoonful of something at her, "Try this, and tell me what you think." 

Squirrel smiled, and obliged him. It was something of a ritual between them - every night Gibbs cooked, Squirrel was always the first to test what had been made.

"A bit more salt might help," Squirrel mused teasingly, licking her lips; an inside joke of theirs.

Gibbs grinned. "Ah, off with you." He stirred the bubbling stew with the spoon. "But it'll be ready in a few minutes, so don't go too far. How much do you want?"

"Actually, I'm having dinner with Barbossa."

Gibbs actually staggered before whirling around to stare, horrified and incredulous at Squirrel. "You're _what_, lass?"

Squirrel smiled beatifically. "I'm having dinner with the captain tonight." She leaned against the doorway, watching as Gibbs tried to find an expression that would best convey his thoughts, and words to do the same.

"That's not wise, Miss Grey," he said finally, taking a very cautious stance.

"And why not?"

Gibbs hesitated before answering. "It's not the proper custom for the crew to eat with the captain."

"He asked me to eat with him, Gibbs. He wanted the company."

"Did he now." Gibbs eyes were suspicious. "And why would that be?"

Squirrel faced her friend, irritated by his baseless accusations. "Because I'm the only one who'll give him more than the time of day. And because I'm the only one not afraid of him."

Gibbs hesitated again. "Well, he's p'raps not the sort a young lady such as yourself should be alone with."

Squirrel sighed, almost wearily. "Gibbs, please."

Gibbs looked stern for once. "Miss Grey, I've always looked out for you. But you're your own woman now, and you can well take care of yourself. I just think you should at least think about what you're doin' before you do it."

Squirrel looked at her friend sadly. "You hate him that much?"

With a half-sigh, Gibbs grudgingly shook his head. "I don't hate him, miss. Barbossa seems a fair enough captain, from what I've seen. He knows when t' give orders and when t' simply let us about our business." He sighed again, and shrugged. "P'raps he might end up bein' a worthy cap'n. Just not of the _Pearl_."

"You're still afraid of him."

Gibbs turned back to the stew, saying nothing.

"He's trying to make up for what he's done, Gibbs," Squirrel said, quietly defending a man who had once been a bane, a nightmare, to the crew. "He just wants a second chance. I trust him."

"I figured you might," Gibbs grumbled, turning back to the stew. He sighed, his back to her. "Miss Grey, whatever you're planning, just be careful. As far as I'm concerned, we can't trust that man until he proves himself trustable."

A scoffing noise slipped past her lips before she could stop it. "Gibbs, I trust Barbossa more than I trust…" She paused a moment, and glanced at the doorway. Sure that no-one was listening in, she finished, lowering her voice, "Tia Dalma."

This was ground Gibbs could stand on. He turned back to her, eyebrow raised but attentive. "What do you mean, lass?" There was an undertone in is voice, a hesitation which spoke of a tentative agreement.

Squirrel tilted her head, considering her friend, wondering how much she could share with him. She decided to tell him all that she dared. "When we came to Pelegosta," she said, slowly, "When we had a 'need to go upriver'… I thought you didn't want to go back because of the cannibals. But you knew about Tia, didn't you? You knew about 'her'."

Gibbs nodded, his mouth twisting. "Aye, that I did." He rubbed his chin reflectively. "Well, I knew the stories."

"Then tell me stories." Squirrel leaned forward. "What do you know about Tia Dalma?"

Gibbs half-sighed, but he sat down by the fire and adopted his storyteller's pose. "Well," he began, "Back before we'd met her, I'd heard tales about Tia Dalma, about what she did. And does." Squirrel listened intently, captivated by her friend's eyes and voice. "Those that have heard of her," Gibbs continued, "Told tales of fortunes and curses laid, of black magic and of unnatural…" He searched for the word, settling with, "Coincidences."

Squirrel nodded, choking back a scoff.

"But those who have known her told me of other things." Gibbs glanced around, then back to Squirrel. "Things of the like I'm now inclined to believe." He sighed, nodding thoughtfully to himself. "I've been told she can control the very sea itself, as well as the ebb and flow of destiny through her magic." He curled the fingers of his right hand into a strange symbol before continuing. "I've heard tell that she has the power to both heal and harm, to both extremes. She can kill a man… or bring him back from death's door."

"Or beyond," Squirrel murmured. Glances were exchanged.

"Aye," Gibbs continued, "Though I'd no reason to believe those stories in the past." He looked down at his hands and rubbed them together again. "What's more, I've heard that all who come to her have to pay a price, whatever it is that she demands, in return for her services."

"Well, that's almost true," Squirrel said, leaning back against the wall. "We _did_ have to pay her the first time we came. An undead monkey for the location of the _Flying Dutchman_. She didn't _demand_ it, but she accepted it well enough." Gibbs smiled pleasantly, but his smile faded when Squirrel did not smile back. "Which brings me to this," Squirrel continued coolly. "Tia Dalma only helps people when they pay her." Squirrel's eyes glittered. "So why is she helping us now?"

"I…" Gibbs frowned. "I don't follow ye, Miss."

"She's not asked for payment of any sort," Squirrel frowned, and counted on the fingers of her right hand, "She's given us hope, a captain, a ship… she's even fixing my hand up. There're more complaints from my end than hers." Squirrel held up her club-like nub of a left hand and stared at it. "But why? We haven't paid her, or even asked for her help. So what does she gain from this?" Squirrel's eyes were distant. "And it's not just what she's doing. It's what she's done. She cast the crab claws, which sent us on the way to Tortuga. But then, Isla Cruces - the isle where Davy's heart was hidden - was back the way we'd come." Squirrel looked to Gibbs. "She sent us in a full circle. She knew that the Dead Man's Chest was buried on the island opposite hers. She _knew_."

Gibbs steepled his fingers and rested his lips on them, listening.

"If we'd asked for the location of both the chest _and_ the key, our journey would have been a lot shorter, and no-one… would have… died…" Squirrel choked, then cleared her throat. "We would…" She took a breath to steady herself, trying to shoulder aside the guilt for the time being. Gibbs put a hand on her shoulder, gently trying to calm her. There was such understanding in his eyes.

Squirrel didn't have the heart to tell him what was really bothering her.

"But we didn't ask, did we? We only wanted the key. We didn't think to kill two birds with one stone." Squirrel drummed her fingers on her bandaged hand, restlessly. "She knows far too much."

"Well, she has her means," Gibbs muttered, his eyes dark with shared suspicion.

"But still," Squirrel calmed her fingers, "What human being would _sell_ such knowledge? Knowledge is power - so why does Tia so willingly part with it? And, for that matter," Squirrel frowned, "How much of the story she told us do we know to be true? She could have made it up to throw us off the trail."

"Davy Jones _did_ cut out his heart," Gibbs frowned.

Squirrel nodded. "And it _was_ for a woman. I saw the look in Davy Jones' eyes," Squirrel explained. "He's suffering for a woman as changing as the sea." She remembered the tears and the pain she'd seen in Davy's ice-blue eyes.

"And," Gibbs added, after a small pause, "He did keep his heart in a chest, and the key with him at all times."

"Everything else is hearsay," Squirrel tapped her lips with her bandaged hand thoughtfully. "We really don't know first-hand the why… or the how, for that matter." She looked at Gibbs. "For a man to cut out his own heart and to keep living would require… a little help, don't you think?"

Gibbs said nothing, but his frown deepened.

"Yes," Squirrel said, sighing faintly, "There's much about Tia that doesn't make sense. All the more reason for me not to trust her."

Gibbs looked surprised. "Miss Grey, I think you'd best…"

"Oh, I'm not ungrateful," Squirrel interrupted. "But when it comes to gift horses, I think it's always a good idea to look them in the mouth. Especially if you're from Troy." She pressed her lips together in a thin smile.

"You don't trust Tia Dalma," Gibbs said slowly. "But you said you trust Barbossa? That makes no sense, Miss."

Squirrel waved away the notion. "I trust Barbossa," she said, "His motives are clear enough. But Tia? I wouldn't trust her as far as I could throw her." She gestured with her left hand. "And I can't throw much with my hand like this."

Gibbs frowned slightly, then nodded. Squirrel had given him a lot to mull over.

"I'm sorry if I've burdened you with this," she said softly, "But I had to tell someone. Someone who'd understand."

Gibbs smiled, rising to his feet. "It's no trouble at all, Miss." Gibbs gave a short huff of a sigh. "Well, if you think we can trust Barbossa, then I'm inclined to agree with you, Miss Grey." He didn't need to say it, but he was clearly thinking: _I'm glad you don't trust Tia either_. "You're never wrong about people." He smiled again, then turned back to the stew.

_I'm only wrong about being right_, Squirrel thought darkly, her lips moving slightly.

After a moment, Gibbs turned back, with one last sliver of concern to pull out of his mind. "You really think we can trust Barbossa?"

"I'd bet my life on it."

* * *

**A/N**: Dun dun dun? 


	10. Swords

**Disclaimer**: POTC is awesome, but I can't take credit for the characters or the events which have and will transpire, aside from this stuff, and Squirrel.

**A/N**: This chapter shouldn't cause anyone to have aneurisms or anything. Hopefully.

* * *

The waves were rough and merciless. Rain fell hard and harsh into Squirrel's face, leaving her spluttering for air. She ducked down under the hood of her cloak, trying to shield her face. She clung tighter to the only thing keeping her above the waves, the only thing stopping her from dying in this terrible storm. 

The dolphin looked up at Squirrel with one baleful eye. Squirrel stared back, shocked. Her senses were so numbed by the cold and the rain she could barely feel anything. But now she realised she rode a dolphin, just as one would ride a horse. She clutched tighter to the dolphin's fin, remembering the stories she'd heard about dolphins saving people from drowning. And Squirrel would certainly drown in this storm.

The dolphin's jaw opened, revealing a row of sharp white teeth. "You again." It hissed, clearly displeased.

Squirrel lost her grip on the dolphin's fin, but her legs gripped tighter around the dolphin's middle. "What?" The dolphin bucked, leaping above the wild waves, crashing down into the water again. Squirrel coughed and gasped. The dolphin leapt again, twisting in midair, trying to shake Squirrel off.

"Stop it!" Squirrel screamed. "Let me go!"

"You're the one holding on!" The dolphin snarled back, a woman's voice. A familiar voice, forever associated with burning flesh and cruel laughter.

Squirrel grit her teeth, blinking away the sting of salt water and the harsh drops of rain. "If I let go, I'll drown!"

The dolphin leapt again, avoiding one wave only to dive through another. While Squirrel coughed and spluttered, the dolphin barked, "Exactly! Now let go!"

Squirrel wrapped her arms around the dolphin's neck, refusing to be cowed by an animal's demands. But doing so, she looked down. Through the turbulent water, she saw the _Flying Dutchman_, its sails billowing from the push of the ocean's currents. The Kraken's tentacles whipped through the water closer, just below them. Coiling and uncoiling, the Kraken looked to be searching for something. Or someone.

Squirrel gave a hiccup of fear. Death at the hands of the sea. Her arms fell slack. The dolphin shimmied in the storm-churned waves, thinking to shake Squirrel free, but Squirrel dug her fingernails into the dolphin's slick pink skin and clamped her legs tighter around the animal's girth. The dolphin hissed, annoyed; Squirrel grunted in return, refusing to let go.

"Suit yourself!" The dolphin's powerful tail flicked, and the animal and its rider were lifted high into the air. Squirrel screwed her eyes shut tight and continued to tighten her grip. She could feel the dolphin climbing, higher and higher through the air. Finally, Squirrel opened her eyes, disoriented, and looked down. The sea was leagues below them both. Squirrel's stomach dropped… and then, so did the dolphin. Nose-first, it made to dive into the sea which churned far below them. The Kraken's tentacles began to break the surface. The wind and the rain rushed past Squirrel's face, backwards.

As Squirrel and the dolphin fell ever faster, time seemed to slow. The waves below them smoothed out, becoming as flat and as reflective as any mirror. But instead of reflecting Squirrel, it showed the face of one she knew too well. She would have raised her arms to protect herself if she could, but she couldn't let go. She could only take one final breath - a prelude to a scream - as the water raced ever closer towards her.

Squirrel woke up as soon as she hit the surface of the water, panting and shaking. Such was the momentum of her waking that she practically threw herself off the bunk. She hit her head on the wall and tripped over her satchel as the world of dreams and reality collided. Staggering to her feet, twisted in the blankets, Squirrel fought for breath and balance both.

She pinched the bridge of her nose as she remembered where she was, trying to solidify her place and sense of self. Another nightmare. Different from the usual one, but still terrifying.

She lifted and dropped her stone necklace repeatedly, in time with the slow breaths she took to steady herself. The thud-thud-thud of it was calming, steadying - it told her she was awake, and in solid reality. There wasn't enough air down here - she needed the wind and the sea. Quietly, she disentangled herself from the sheets, and went up on deck.

She leant against the mainmast and tried to breathe. The sound of the wind in the rigging, the groan of the timbers and the slap of the ropes and the canvas were soothing and familiar. Yet they jarred against her senses - this ship was different. It wasn't what she was used to. It was as though the _Diana_ was reminding her: _this isn't your home. This isn't where you belong_.

Squirrel rubbed her eyes, trying to dispel the last residue of the nightmare. As she leant against the mast, listening to the usual sounds of a ship, she heard something else. Someone paced the deck, steps forward and back in one spot. Squirrel peered around the mast, and saw Will brandishing his sword, threatening the empty air.

Squirrel stifled a yawn as she crossed to him. "Evening."

Will turned and made a short bow to her. "Not really," he said, lowering his sword. "It's three in the morning."

"Urgh." Squirrel rubbed at her face again. It had been late when she'd left Barbossa's quarters after dinner, and later still before she'd finally been able to drift off. She'd never be able to get back to sleep now. She shook herself, her hair falling slightly into her face, and peered through to Will. "Why are you up?"

Will readied his sword again. "I've been lax in my practice." He made three steps, and swung the sword in a short fluid arc. The air screamed as it was cut - no doubt a man would do the same. Squirrel whistled faintly, impressed. Will tried to hide a smile.

"Who taught you how to fight?"

Will bowed his head modestly. "I taught myself."

Squirrel's eyebrows both rose. "Really?" She watched, silently, for a few moments more as Will stepped and lunged, stepped and swung, stepped and blocked, stepped and parried, and repeated the movements. "You're very skilled."

"Thankyou." Will paused a moment, rolled his shoulders, and began again. Squirrel watched the way his feet moved, how in time with his body his sword moved. Though Will was nowhere as graceful or as practiced as Barbossa, he certainly knew what he was doing.

Will swung the sword again, stepped back and levelled it at the air. "How was your dinner with Barbossa?" He asked, his tone casual.

Squirrel tilted her head, frowning a little. "We had a lot to talk about."

"Really? What about?" He didn't sound so much as curious as offhanded.

Squirrel refused to be baited. "Nothing much. Just stories, really." She watched him a moment. "You seem a little concerned, William. Why is that?"

Will swung his sword again, cutting an 'x' into the air, still refusing to meet Squirrel's gaze. "It may not be the best idea to become so familiar with him."

"Why not?"

Will finally lowered his sword and looked Squirrel dead in the eye. "Because I think he's just using you. When the rest of the crew see how you and Barbossa are getting along, they'll begin to trust him too."

Squirrel did not stoop so low. "You're entitled to your opinion, William. But I'm not going to judge him for who he was before."

Will sighed, displeased. He lifted his sword again, and made a few half-hearted swings at the air.

"Just give him a second chance," Squirrel pleaded softly. "As you said, if he proves untrustworthy, then we can walk away. But all he wants now is to be accepted as part of this crew. He's not asking any more than that. And he's not forcing us to do anything we don't want to do."

Will sighed. "I suppose." He lifted his sword and parried and struck at invisible enemies. But he made no promise. Squirrel stepped back and watched Will step and turn and strike, step and strike, strike and step and turn.

"Could you teach me?"

Will stopped mid-stroke and turned to look quizzically at Squirrel. "I beg your pardon?"

Squirrel paused a moment. "Could you teach me how to use a sword?" She shrugged, preparing to accept rejection. "I know you're already teaching me how to swim - or you did, once - but I was just wondering…"

"Of course."

Squirrel blinked, surprised. "Really? Oh. Thankyou."

"I'd be happy to." Will smiled. "But no-one's ever taught you before?"

"No." Squirrel rolled her shoulders. "I guess they thought that my being able to use a shanghai was enough."

"And it isn't?"

Squirrel looked down at her feet. "It wasn't enough the Kraken attacked."

There was a silence between them a moment, then Will nodded. "I'll go down to the armoury," he said softly, "See if there's a spare sword down there."

"Wait." Squirrel held out her hand, and Will gingerly passed her his sword. Despite the tightness of her grip, Squirrel's arm shook, and the sword soon tumbled out of her hand. "I'm not strong enough," she explained ruefully, as Will picked his sword off the deck. She rubbed the length of her arm, trying to sooth the muscles that had strained even from that minor exercise.

"How do you plan to use the sword if you can't even lift one?" Will asked, curious eyes locked on her.

Squirrel shrugged, then gave a weak smile. "I don't know. But I thought I'd ask."

Will shook his head, laughing softly. "I'll go look for something."

"Thankyou." Squirrel whispered as he went below. She leaned against the mast again, listening to the silent sounds of the night and the wild ocean. The nightmare seemed so far away and foolish now. She looked around the deck. Cotton was at the helm; his parrot was - for once - watchful on his owner's shoulder, instead of sleeping with its head under its wing. The bird spied Squirrel, and fluttered over to her, perching on her shoulder.

"Pieces of eight?" It asked, head on one side.

Squirrel shook her head. "Sorry," she said, "Until I finish the inventory, I'm not carrying anything for you." The parrot huffed, then started to preen itself, as though it really didn't matter that much anyway.

Squirrel was reminded once again about the belongings at her belt. The coin and the bottle - she'd have to deal with them both eventually. The coin she wanted to put somewhere safe. But the bottle… she wanted some privacy, some time alone, to examine her prize.

_Your theft, you mean_, a gentle voice scolded.

"Enjoyin' deh sea air?"

Squirrel turned to see Tia making her way across the deck. "Doesn't anyone sleep anymore?" She muttered to herself.

Tia gave Squirrel a wry smile. "Is too fine a night t' spend beloo. 'ow is your han', Miss Greeh?"

Squirrel gently unwound the bandage. Her left palm and the undersides of her fingers were now a mass of thick brown scabs, wrinkled and fissured. Though the wounds were all scabbed over, Squirrel's hand was still tender, and every time she accidentally brushed against something or curled her left hand she was reminded of this. But she no longer needed salves or oils. Just the bandage and more than the usual amount of caution.

Tia examined the mess of Squirrel's hand with pursed lips, then nodded. "Good, good," she murmured. "Is healing well."

"How much longer, do you think?" Squirrel asked, politely. She rewound the bandage around her hand.

Tia's inky smile widened. "By deh time we reach Africa, you will be back to your ol' seelf ageen." Tia tilted her head to one side. "Or… will you? While deh han' be 'ealed, will deh one who wears it be?"

"Tia," Squirrel sighed, "Please, no riddles."

"Riddles is what I am," Tia shrugged, then tilted her head. "You be havin' night-meers still." She smiled her feline smile at the short jump Squirrel gave. "Tell me about dem."

Squirrel's lips made a thin line. "If Gibbs were here, he'd say it would be bad luck to recount dreams before breakfast."

Tia chuckled, a short burst laughter from deep in the back of her throat. "But you don' believe in luck, do you, Miss Greeh?" Squirrel looked out to sea, stubbornly. Tia laughed again - softer this time - then sighed. "Ah, gherl, dere's such a mark on you, an' you do not even wan' to see it."

Squirrel held up her right arm, scowling. "I can see it just fine, thank you very much."

Tia's eyes widened, and her smile vanished. "What is dis?" She asked, gently taking Squirrel's arm in her hands. "What is dis dat happen to you?"

"My cousin Dawn pushed me into a metal plate a few months back," Squirrel said, voice low. "That's the 'mark' you're talking about, right?"

Tia shook her head, still wide-eyed. She traced a pattern on Squirrel's forearm with her finger. "Is not the burns of which I speak," she said, "But dis. What is dis?"

Squirrel pulled her hand out of Tia's grasp. "It's nothing."

Tia's eyes were deep and fathomless. "Under deh sunburn, is look like a han'prin', Miss Greeh." She tilted her head, and her braids and beads clinked softly. "'oose 'and?"

Squirrel closed her eyes. "You know very well."

There was a small silence. Squirrel heard the swamp woman waiting, heard the gentleness of her breath and her patience. "Ah," Tia said finally, slowly, sadly, "So it be deh Jack dat mark you?" She tapped her chin and murmured to herself, "So is more dan jus' deh mark I saw. Streenge."

"It might have been thanks to Davy Jones."

Tia stiffened. "What?"

Squirrel shrugged, though something inside her crowed at this small victory: _Tia Dalma isn't so all-knowing after all_. "He shook hands with Davy Jones before he grabbed my arm. So, it might have been thanks to Davy that the burns are gone, even if only here." She did not glance at the handprint, but tapped it with her bandaged nub nonetheless. "I'd like to think he had nothing to do with it."

"He?" Tia wrinkled her nose in a frown. "Who is this 'he'?"

"You know," Squirrel gestured vaguely, feeling somewhat queasy for no discernable reason at all. "The pirate."

Tia stared at Squirrel, a slow dawning realisation. "Seey 'is neem."

"What?"

"'umour me, Miss Greeh. Seey 'is neem."

Squirrel frowned, then opened her mouth to speak. And she found she couldn't. She spent a few moments struggling with her tongue, but it was as though the words were being held back from her. She'd heard Tia say it not a moment ago - yet Squirrel could not say it herself. Frowning, Squirrel looked to the swamp woman, wanting an explanation.

Tia looked at Squirrel with such pity, such sympathy. "Ah, gherl! You canna even seey his neeme no more."

"What are you talking about? I should be able to." She frowned to herself, struggling with her tongue. "What's wrong with me?"

Tia reached out and brushed the hand-shaped void on Squirrel's burned arm. "Deh min' has is weeys of protectin' isself. Sometimes, somet'in' so teerrible 'appens dat deh min' locks isself up like a chest, hidin' away deh trut' inside." Tia drew her fingers along the side of Squirrel's face; Squirrel flinched back, finding the woman's touch unwelcome. Tia did not seem offended. "You bear scars, Miss Greeh, scars of deh min' as well as deh skin. You've forgotten your pas' when you see your parents die, an' now wid deh deat' of your Captain Jack Sparrow…" Tia withdrew her hand, such sadness in her eyes. "Your min' try to protect isself, but just be hurtin' you."

Rattled, Squirrel asked, "Who told you my parents died?"

"I see it in you," Tia shrugged, still full of pity. "Your eyes speak of peen, peen dat happen wit' one so young. Deh cards speak of bot' knowledge and love, as whell as 'urt an' loneliness." She made a gesture with her left hand, the fingers spread wide. "What deh cards show en't alweeys pleen, until deh answers come t' light." Tia tilted her head and considered Squirrel again. "Is like dreams. We don' know what dey mean 'til we see dem in deh deeyligh'."

Mister Cotton's parrot chewed gently on Squirrel's hoop earring. "Fo'c'sle?" It asked softly.

"Somet'in' you see when you were younger," Tia said, thoughtful and pitying, "Dat's what cause you to lose your memory. Somet'in' teerrible." She held out her hand. "Let me see it."

Squirrel edged away slightly. This woman's perceptiveness was alarming. "See what?"

"Deh coin you carry," the swamp woman said softly. "Deh amulet you wore, deh firs' time you keem to me. You were playin' wit' it. A silver coin."

Uneasily, Squirrel shook her head. "I'd rather not."

Tia gently withdrew her hand, nodding in understanding. "Maybe not todee," she said, smiling faintly. "Maybe not t'marra. But one dee you trus' me enough for me t' help yeh fin' what you've lost."

"You can help me get my memories back?" She shook her head, disbelieving, but inside her there was a flicker of hope. "You can help me remember my name?"

Tia shrugged, and suddenly in her hands was a deck of cards, the cards all larger than the ones Squirrel carried. Tia shuffled them, spun them in her hands restlessly. "P'raps." She looked under her eyelids at Squirrel. "Your dehstiny is a 'ard one to see, Miss Greeh."

Squirrel couldn't help but scoff. "Tia, my future does not lie in those cards you hold."

"No," Tia agreed, a gleam in her eye, "It does not." She pulled out one card and handed it to Squirrel. It showed a figure, cloaked in a grey cowl, carrying a lantern and staring out into a grey wasteland. The figure's head - leaning on a wooden staff - was bowed and their eyes were closed. _Some guardian_, Squirrel thought, _You're not even paying attention_. But then she wondered why she'd thought that the card showed a guardian. Perhaps it was merely someone waiting for something - or someone - and their eyes were weary from that endless search.

Or perhaps they had been looking for something that had never existed, and were finally realising what a fool they'd been to have looked for such a thing in the first place.

"When I first drew deh cards fer you," Tia said, her eyes hooded, gently taking the card back from Squirrel, "Dey seey yoor feete was t' die at sea."

Squirrel felt a cold shiver march up and down her spine at Tia's words. The sight of the _Pearl_'s deck bloody and broken, the feeling of the Kraken's tentacle crushing her, and the taste of its foul skin and bitter blood came hauntingly back to her. The dolphin from her dream laughed faintly.

"But now…" Tia shrugged, seemingly not noticing Squirrel's barely-concealed fear, and shuffled the cards again. "Everyt'in' is under a fog. You stan' on deh fifth point of deh compass, all choices laid bare before yeh. Is hard t' see what is in store fer yoo."

Squirrel pursed her lips sardonically. "Aside from a great pain, you mean?"

Tia looked sidelong at Squirrel, lazily rather than sharply. Neither of the women had forgotten the words spoken on their first meeting. "Yeess," Tia murmured, almost hissing the word.

Mister Cotton's parrot chewed on the necklace Squirrel wore. "You can't direct the wind," it said in a jaunty Cockney accent, "But you can adjust your sails."

Squirrel looked to the bird, surprised. Mister Cotton's parrot had never been so coherent before - it usually spoke in short phrases, never complete sentences. As if sensing Squirrel's scrutiny, the parrot lifted into the air, flying back to his owner, leaving Squirrel behind, mystified.

"Well, I didn't die at sea," Squirrel looked back to Tia, and forced a smile. "And I'm not likely to let that monster hurt me again. I also don't mind not knowing my future - that's the way it's always been." She drew herself up, reassuring herself as much as Tia. "I'll head south-east, endure great pain, get my name and my memories back, and then live the rest of my life as it should be. Without fear or hesitation."

"Sout'-east?" Tia frowned, the cards vanishing from her hands.

Squirrel nodded. "When I used… his… the pirate's… the… the compass…" Tripped by her faltering tongue, she grit her teeth and started over. "When I wanted to know my name, the compass pointed south-east." Squirrel shrugged, wryly. "But you already knew that, right?"

Tia said nothing, but frowned thoughtfully.

"Miss Grey?"

Squirrel turned, and saw Will emerging from below decks. He handed something to her. It was light enough, surely, and the same length as Will's sword. But it wasn't.

"This was all I could find," he said, regretfully.

Squirrel turned it in her hand, then raised an eyebrow at Will. "It's a stick." She and Will looked to each other, silent a moment, then both burst out laughing. It was a short laugh, but it lightened the tension between them. It was forgiveness, of a sort - their disagreements from the previous conversation was water under the bridge.

"Alright," Squirrel chuckled. "Stick verses sword. This fight won't last too long."

"We're not going to fight just yet. But if we do, I'll use the flat of my blade." Will smiled. "Shall we begin?"

Squirrel nodded, adjusting the stick in her hand. "Alright."

"No, no." Will paused, coming over, "You're holding it wrong."

"It's just a stick, Will."

"Just pretend it's a real sword." Will set one hand on Squirrel's shoulder, and the other on her wrist. "You'll sprain your wrist holding it like that. And you're tensed up." He gently put pressure on her. "Relax. Hold it more loosely. Try not to make your muscles rigid." Under Will's hands, Squirrel gentled and calmed, moving under his direction. "Is that better?"

Squirrel nodded. "Yes, much better." She smiled at Will.

He smiled back, then released his hold on her to draw his own sword. "We'll start with the basics. Once you're strong enough to hold a real sword, I'll start pushing you." He raised his sword. "Watch me first." He slowly moved in his exercises - swinging his sword, stepping, moving. When he was done, Squirrel awkwardly repeated what she'd seen. It was harder than it looked, and Will gently chided and corrected her, standing beside her, guiding her arm and wrist with his blacksmith's hands.

Out of the corner of her eye, Squirrel saw Tia watching them both. There was a strange look on the swamp woman's face - though her expression seemed blank, there was a pinch to her brows. The corners of her lips pointed downwards, as if in disapproval. And there was a hint of incredulity and alarm in her dark glittering eyes.


	11. Rhythm

**Disclaimer**: Gotta give credit where credit is due.

**A/N**: I have just realised that this story will end up being INSANELY long. See, the DMC version of Squirrel is 21 chapters long. And this one… is already over 10 chapters and we're not even up to the movie stuff yet. So, first of all, I'd like to beg your patience… and second of all, if you've gotten this far THANKYOU and I hope you're willing to continue, no matter how long it takes me to post this. Who knows, this could end up 50 chapters long (gee-whiz, I hope not! That might be pushing it!) But yes, I think this will be the longest story of my fanfiction career. Just a warning. And, of course, my continuing thanks and gladness for those who read and/or review.

Enough of that. This chapter is pretty pivotal, so take your time. :) Thanks to CompYES for the twisted ankle of a friend.

* * *

Like her weapon, Squirrel moved woodenly, awkwardly copying what Will did gracefully. Despite Will's words of encouragement and constant reminders, she just couldn't move as fast or as sure. Her muscles kept tensing up every time she heard Will's sword swing through the air. He was so much better than her. And she knew that the weapon she held in her hand was a stick. A useless stick. 

Squirrel wiped the sweat from her face, panting, and stepped back for a breath. Will lowered his sword, and waited patiently.

"Are you alright?"

Squirrel forced herself to nod.

Will hesitated, looking concerned. "Perhaps this is a bit much for a first lesson."

"No." Squirrel lifted her stick, readying it. "I can do this."

Will looked unsure, but he readied his sword. Squirrel kept her eye on that silvery gleam of metal, watching to see where it went. It rose - she ducked and parried, but the sword tapped her arm. The sword swung from below - Squirrel blocked, but her shoulder cried out in pain, and Will's sword was suddenly levelled at her throat. Squirrel hissed, alarmed; Will stepped back, apologetically and let her catch her breath. Then he stepped, lunging forward - Squirrel tried to dodge and swing at the same time. In doing so, she lost her balance and fell backwards, hitting the deck with a thud. Her stick tumbled from her hand, and her left hand smacked the deck knuckle-first. Squirrel gave a strangled cry.

"I'm sorry!" Will lowered his sword. "Are you alright?"

"Yes." Squirrel winced, glad her hand had not turned the other way. "But I think I twisted my ankle." She massaged the twinge.

Will put out his hand to help her up. Squirrel reached up and took his hand, and let him pull her to her feet. She looked up, smiling wryly, and their eyes locked.

"I should have been more careful," Will murmured.

"No," Squirrel shook her head, her eyes never leaving his. "It was my fault."

"Maybe we should take a break."

"That might be a good idea."

Slowly, Will let go of Squirrel's hand, his fingers lingering until the last moment. He sheathed his sword and went to the railing, looking out over the sea. Squirrel rubbed her fingers and palm together - they seemed strangely warm - then slowly lowered her hand. She massaged her ankle again - it didn't seem too bad - then picked up her 'sword' and limped over to join Will.

"If you've twisted your ankle," Will said, apologetically. "Perhaps it's best if we stop for the time being."

"I'll be alright. I just need a moment," Squirrel reassured him, leaning against the railing. She tapped her stick on the toe of her boot and sighed. "Will, I've a question."

Will untied his hair, letting it fall loose around his face. The sea air teased his hair, playing with it. "Ask away," he said, putting the piece of cord between his teeth and recapturing his hair with both hands.

Squirrel watched him, absently. "Do you really think I'll be any good at the sword by the time we reach Singapore? Or will it just be a waste of time?"

Will looked up at Squirrel as he retied his hair back out of his face. "It's your first lesson," he said with a small smile. "Don't get so discouraged so easily."

"But really, what do you think?"

Will merely shrugged. "I think that you could at least be able to defend yourself well enough. After all, Singapore's over a month away. There's plenty of time for you to get your strength up, get the skills you need."

Squirrel smiled. "I certainly hope so." She looked to the east, where the sun was beginning to rise over the prow of the _Diana_.

"If you practice as much as Elizabeth did, then I've no doubt you'll be just as skilled as she is. Maybe even more so." Will followed Squirrel's gaze, and his eyes widened. "Well. I wouldn't have thought we had been practising so long."

Squirrel groaned and pulled a face. "I would have." She pushed herself off the railing and readied her stick. "Alright. Just a little while longer, and then when the watch changes, we're done. Agreed?"

"Agreed." Will grinned, and lifted his sword. "Watch how I step. The idea is that you should move as though a mirror of your opponent."

"Well, that's one way of lookin' at it." Barbossa appeared on deck, a dark shadow in the path of the dawn. Squirrel and Will lowered their swords, a respectful salute. Barbossa nodded to them both - sparing a small smile for Squirrel - then made a motion for them to continue, and stood with arms folded, watching.

Will's lips made a hard line, and his eyes became hooded. "Ready?" He murmured, then stepped, stepped, stepped. Squirrel kept her head down, trying to watch both Will's sword and his feet at the same time. When Will's blade came towards her, she was ready for it - she just couldn't get out of the way in time. She tripped and tumbled again, this time breaking her fall so she didn't land so hard.

Will held out his hand again to help her up, but Squirrel was already on her feet. She examined the stick critically, then looked to Will. "My sword broke," she said, with mock-melancholy.

Will managed a smile as well. "I'll find you another."

"Not to interrupt your lesson, Mister Turner," Barbossa said, scratching his chin, "But p'raps it might be a better idea t' play on Miss Grey's strengths, instead of teachin' her the conventional way of usin' a sword."

Squirrel threw the broken stick overboard. "Strengths?"

"What do you mean?" Will asked, frowning thoughtfully.

Barbossa looked to Squirrel. "Do what ye're used to, and then add a sword into it later." He drew his sword and adopted a fighting stance. "Just as the only way to overcome your fears is to face 'em," his sword was held loose in his wrist but the blade snapped and scythed though the air wickedly, swiftly, surely, "The only way to overcome your weaknesses is to make 'em strengths instead." He fluidly sheathed his sword; he moved so nonchalantly, as though all this were second nature. As though it were no more a task than breathing.

"You make it look so easy," Squirrel muttered.

Barbossa smiled. "Well, it's not that hard when ye know how t' do it. So tell me, angel," He tilted his head, "What are your strengths?"

Squirrel blinked. "I…" She frowned. "I don't know." She'd never thought about it, really. Growing up on Tortuga, she'd learned she was never good enough. Nothing she did was ever right. She always had to push herself even to be acceptable to her uncle's and cousin's demands. On the _Pearl_, she'd done what she was good at, and been praised for it, but had always felt lacking somehow. She'd always seen her own shortcomings, and little else.

"What are ye good at?" Barbossa prompted, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"My shanghai," Squirrel said, eventually. "I can put out a candle at thirty paces and not get melted wax on the stone. I've a sharp eye… I'm quiet. I can move without people hearing me coming. And… and I'm good at predicting how people will react. Mostly in games of cards and dice, but… sometimes elsewhere, too. I can climb, and jump, fairly well…" Every word was drawn out slowly, as though a first-time realisation. Squirrel had never assessed herself so. Barbossa tilted his head, leaning forward in a manner that suggested he was expecting something else. Squirrel looked to Will, helplessly. He shrugged in return.

"You're honest," he murmured, so low that only Squirrel could hear. Squirrel smiled at him, warmed by the compliment. Will smiled in return.

"Can ye dance?"

Squirrel looked back to Barbossa. "What?"

"Can ye dance?" Barbossa repeated.

Squirrel shrugged. "A jig, that's all. And I'm none too good at it either. Why?"

"It helps t' know how to dance." Barbossa held out his arms to Squirrel, a dancer waiting for a partner. Squirrel hung back, unsure. Will frowned, wary and concerned. But Barbossa motioned with his hands, and Squirrel hesitatingly moved forward. She put her hands in his, and waited, feeling awkward. Barbossa just smiled, and then… he moved.

His age belied his grace. The young Miss Grey felt clumsy and slow in his arms. Fluidly, Barbossa swung and stepped, his coat-tails flying behind him, but kept his face and body steady. He was moving, but seemed not to. Squirrel, bewildered by the steps, fumbled with her feet to keep up with him. She stared down at her toes, blushing furiously. Even the sun's darkening of her skin couldn't mask that.

"I'll lead," Barbossa murmured, squeezing Squirrel's right hand reassuringly, "You follow." He slowed, and his feet began to take a pattern that Squirrel was able to recognise. Forward, side, back; forward, side, back. One, two, three; one, two, three. Squirrel followed his feet, stepping back when he stepped forward, forward when he stepped back, and with him when he moved to the side. She kept her eyes on their feet, on the worn brown shoes and the black leather boots.

"Ye gettin' the rhythm?" Barbossa asked gently. Squirrel nodded, keeping her head down. "Right, now comes the hard part. Look up."

Squirrel looked up, and found herself looking into Barbossa's eyes. His eyes were steady, and held her, but Squirrel's feet stumbled. With a bit-back curse, she looked down again.

"No." Barbossa shook Squirrel's arms, demanding she lift her gaze. "There's no point in starin' at your feet, angel, because that's not goin' t' help ye in a fight." He continued to step in the same rhythm. Squirrel's panic and embarrassment began to fade as she found herself moving with Barbossa, following the three-step pattern, her eyes on his. There were no thoughts, no distractions: just the steps, just the movements.

A song, slow and gentle, played in her head - a song she'd not heard for days.

"Faster," Barbossa said, and Squirrel picked up her feet, moving with him. When speed was no longer an obstacle, Barbossa grinned somewhat. He turned and twirled in time with the rhythm, and Squirrel, still in his arms, turned and twirled with him. They could have been at a ball for the way they danced together. Barbossa changed his steps, the rhythm of the dance - Squirrel matched him, her feet light and sure. They moved faster, faster, twirling and turning and spinning and changing steps. Barbossa led, and Squirrel followed, close and sure to the point where she moved as one with him.

The song changed slightly, falling into a pattern, a rhythm, the like of which Squirrel had come to associate with a swaggering, drunken fool of a man. The song goaded her, rallied her. She swayed with the music, though she kept her senses her own.

She hadn't realised that Barbossa had let her go, for still they danced. A gulf of space widened between them, yet still Squirrel followed Barbossa's steps, her eyes never leaving his. And when Barbossa drew his sword, Squirrel drew her dagger, thinking nothing of it. Not thinking at all. Barbossa stepped, stepped, stepped, drew back to strike; Squirrel stepped forward and parried, the two blades shrieking against each other. Barbossa grinned, swaying and circling around Squirrel. The rhythm had left his feet, but he was still dancing, and Squirrel still held the song in her head.

Barbossa was taunting her, the way a cat taunts its prey, but far more gentlemanly than he had taunted the _Diana_'s previous captain. Squirrel did not get angry at this, because anger was distracting. Anger was useless in a fight. She had to focus. She lunged, seeing an opening, and Barbossa chuckled as he swatted her dagger away. It had been close. Had she held a longer blade, she might have stood a chance. Barbossa swung his blade slowly, from below; Squirrel brought her dagger down hard, breaking the sword's smooth wide arc. She stepped lightly aside, drawing back her arm and watching Barbossa carefully. Barbossa smiled, and mirrored her movement. His sword sliced through the air; Squirrel dodged, her arm snapping out. Her dagger grazed Barbossa's sleeve; his sword tapped lightly against her neck. Barbossa laughed; Squirrel's eyes hardened.

The song changed, back to that same haunting lullaby. But now it was more than a lullaby - it pounded behind her ears, harsh and sweet and sad and angry all at once.

She saw nothing, nothing but Barbossa's eyes. Yet all the while she stared into Barbossa's ice-blue eyes, she could see his blade, see his feet, and what steps he planned to take. So when he sped up again, Squirrel was ready, and matched his speed. When he lunged, Squirrel was able to duck, to dance aside… and then to deliver attacks of her own.

The song grew faster, faster, faster. It drummed in her ears, her mind, her veins.

Recovering from a lunge, Squirrel skipped out of the way and delivered a taunt of her own. Her feet tapped out a brief pirate's jig, a mockery of the graceful dance Barbossa had suggested. Barbossa merely grinned, and swiped at the air. Squirrel skipped, jumped, tap-stepped out of the way, her left hand held over her head like an Irish dancer. And then she swivelled on her heel and lashed out with her left leg, aiming for Barbossa's knee.

Barbossa barely got out of the way in time, twirling to the side to avoid being tripped over. His eyes widened - surprise, perhaps, or maybe admiration - as Squirrel took that small window of opportunity, and her blade got a little too close. Barbossa's sword flickered - quick lightning silver; Squirrel dropped to the deck and rolled aside, but was on her feet in an instant, leaping back towards the captain, dagger-first. Barbossa stepped aside, parrying with his sword, and pushing her back. He said something, but Squirrel couldn't hear him. All she could hear was that song.

That _thump-thump-gasp_ of the song, thundering around her.

She hadn't realised she'd gotten so close to Barbossa - perhaps he'd tired of taunting her and had moved faster than he had chosen to before, faster than Squirrel was prepared for. Whatever the case, she suddenly found her right wrist encased in a grip of steel. Barbossa, his eyes likewise steely, gripped her wrist painfully, forcing her to drop the blade she wielded. Somehow, Squirrel was turned, twisted, and her arm was pinned behind her.

"Stop it," Barbossa said firmly.

And the song simply ended. All that there was was the sound of the sea, the wind in the canvas, the groan of the _Diana_'s timbers, and the panting of Squirrel's own breath.

Now she could see a crowd had gathered. All the crew were staring at her, wide-eyed. Elizabeth looked horrified, but at the same time, awed. Will was blank-faced, but his knuckles were white around the hilt of the sword. Tia Dalma was noticeably absent from the gathering.

Barbossa slowly released her, and stepped back. "Not bad," he said, nonchalantly, though there was something in his eyes that spoke otherwise. "There's another strength of yours there, angel, one that'll come in handy in a fight. Ye're fast." He paused a moment. "And if ye ever decide to wield somethin' other than that pig-sticker of your'n," he tapped Squirrel's fallen dagger with the tip of his boot, "I can see ye bein' quite a danger."

"Thankyou, Captain." Squirrel said stiffly, massaging her wrist. She picked up her dagger and sheathed it, feeling a crawling sensation down her spine. All those silent eyes were waiting, wanting an explanation. What could she say? Already, for his actions, Barbossa was being judged, and what trust there had been since the capture of the _Diana_ had been lost.

All because of her.

Barbossa made a small bow and turned away, preventing Squirrel from using one of the half-hearted lines that might have saved his tattered reputation. But it might have been for the best. In a month, there would be more than enough chances for Barbossa to redeem himself in the eyes of the crew. If it was possible.

"That was incredible," Elizabeth breathed, eyes shining with admiration.

Squirrel turned to face her, still breathing hard. "Thankyou." She forced a smile despite the situation. "All I need now is the strength in my arms."

"Well," Elizabeth shrugged, still smiling, "When you're strong enough to handle a sword, do you think we could have a match sometime?"

Squirrel smiled evenly enough, but something within her stirred. "Certainly. I'd enjoy that."

Will's grip loosened on his sword hilt. "Well, the watch has changed," he said, abruptly. "The lesson's over. We'll resume some other time, Miss Grey."

The crew began to dissipate, going about their tasks as they should. Gibbs lingered a moment longer, frowning at Squirrel without masking his displeasure. Squirrel looked back at him, trying to reassure him, but Gibbs was as set in his beliefs as any sailor.

Squirrel went below with her eyes lowered. She'd duties as quartermaster to attend to.

* * *

Armed with a lantern, Squirrel descended into the darkness of the hold. Sounds of her friends above were muted, and echoed hollowly down here. Squirrel paid no heed. With a piece of chalk, she made markings on a slate, tallying what they had claimed when the _Diana_ was captured. Food and water was still fresh, cannons and spare weaponry were well-polished and in good condition. Squirrel counted them all, keeping her mind on the one thing she was certain about in this world: numbers. 

The hold was packed, making Squirrel's journey slow. But she did not feel discouraged by this. The slower her journey, the more supplies they had. And more supplies was always a good thing.

"Oh, blow the man down, bullies, blow the man down," she sang as she worked, "Way-ay-ay-hey, blow the man down. Oh, blow the man down, bullies, blow him right down. Give us the time and we'll blow the man down." She paused, marking off another barrel of rum on the slate, and sighed. Somehow, that song - once so enjoyable to sing - fell flat and hollow from her lips. There were no anchor chains to haul, no rigging to secure down here; no crew to sing it with, either. Not that they knew she could sing. But here, in the near-darkness, it seemed like she should be singing a different tune.

"The mate was fixed with the bo'sun's pike, the bo'sun brained with a marlinspike, and cookey's throat was marked belike; it had been gripped with fingers ten, and there they lay, all good dead men…" Squirrel sighed. "Like break of day in a boozin' ken, yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum." Once again the song seemed inappropriate - it made the darkness all about her move with imagined phantoms and sinister thoughts. She paused, thinking, trying to find something, anything… and then, it came to her.

"Waves shall rise," Squirrel lilted softly, "And waves shall fall…"

The silence of the _Diana_'s hold suddenly seemed oppressive. Nervous for no reason, Squirrel picked up her lantern and moved the light to a more suitable spot. Further from the stairs and the door. She tapped another barrel, lifted the lid to check the contents, and made another mark on her slate. Then, with the chalk and the candle, she marked two lines on the side of the barrel. She made a smug smile and moved on.

"… Over land and sea I'll call. To you, my…"

The timbers groaned, and Squirrel staggered as the ship rocked. Frowning, Squirrel righted herself. Had they somehow sailed into a storm while she'd been below? If that was so, why weren't the shouts of the crew louder? And why was there no sound of rain or of the rising waves? Curious, Squirrel set down her slate and rose out of the darkness.

The sun shone bright down on her, and the crew moved slowly, unhurriedly, about their tasks. Squirrel cast her eyes about, but found no clouds, no shoals, nothing to explain the way the _Diana_ had suddenly bucked. Perhaps she was overreacting - the _Diana_ must have a different kind of keel, one which reacted more violently to even the most gentle of waves.

"No," Squirrel murmured, airing her thoughts, "There was something. There had to be…"

Marty hailed her and slid down from the rigging. "Miss, ye're learning how t' use the sword?" When Squirrel nodded, still looking about for the cause of the ship's sudden movement, Marty reached behind a barrel and brought out two strange… bracelets, of some kind. "I made these fer ye. Found some old lead plumbing, and a bit of old sailcloth, and stitched 'em up for ye."

Squirrel looked at Marty's offerings. "What are they?"

Marty motioned for her to sit down, and she did so. The short sailor grinned and started to tie what he'd made around Squirrel's upper arms. "If you wear these while you're workin', or cookin', or whatever, ye'll get a lot stronger. They're just weights, you see."

"Well, they are heavy," Squirrel noted. There had to be at least a pound on each of her arms.

"See," Marty said, stepping back, "If ye wear these doin' normal tasks and the such-like, your arms'll get stronger, aye? And then one day, ye'll be able to carry a sword with ease."

Squirrel looked to her friend, smiling gratefully. "Thankyou, Marty! That's a brilliant idea!"

Marty shrugged, trying to look modest. "Can't take the credit for it myself, Miss. But I hope they come in handy." He saluted her, then returned to his tasks.

Squirrel hauled herself to her feet, and had a hard time finding her balance. She rolled her shoulders, and her muscles groaned, but obeyed. She flexed her arms, lifted her forearms, and could feel the weight of Marty's gifts doing her good. Squirrel smiled. They might take some getting used to, but she had no complaints so far.

With one final glance at the wide blue sea - and coming to the conclusion the ship had rocked for no particular reason worth worrying over - Squirrel went below once more. But she detoured to her bunk rather than heading straight back down to the hold.

Her satchel lay where she'd left it, and Squirrel rifled through it until she found that small wooden box. The box had once contained Tia's gift of an additional eight dice, but now lay empty. Squirrel sat on her bunk as she checked the contents of the pouches hanging from her belt. One contained the ten dice, which rattled together like bones. Another contained her deck of cards. Another pouch held the stolen bottle. And the last contained nothing but a silver coin. Squirrel pulled out this coin now, and examined it.

It had been a simple gift, but it had been precious to her. It was the last thing she could remember her father giving her. She'd been young when Daniel Grey had tied the coin around his daughter's neck on a piece of string, but she could still remember the joy she'd felt, and the grin on her father's rugged face.

Squirrel looked at the coin now, and felt nothing but green-tinged bitterness.

In the centre of that smooth piece of silver, marring its beauty, was an ugly blackened piece of iron. No common bullet of lead, this. Dawn had intended to make the pirate's death as painful and sure as possible. Yet Squirrel had intervened, catching the shot with the silver of the coin. Saved his life. And what was the thanks she'd gotten?

Squirrel set down the coin, and drew her dagger. She stabbed at the coin, trying to pry out the spent bullet. But no matter how she tried to detach it from her amulet, heat and pressure had fused the iron to the silver. The two metals were one. There would be no separating them.

Past and present were irrevocably bound together.

Squirrel made a sound in her throat which might have been an angry snarl or a choked sob. In either case, she could do nothing about it. Sheathing her dagger, Squirrel picked up the coin again. She stared at it, with thoughtful, hurt eyes. And then, as though the decision were a momentous one, she slowly placed the coin inside the wooden box, and closed the lid.

She expected to hear a crash, or the sound of a gong, or something, as though the tiny wooden box's closing would provide a sound to signal the end of an era, the turning of a page, the beginning of something new. But no, the box just clicked shut quietly, the catch even proving reluctant to hold. Squirrel was slightly disappointed.

"So much for that." She threw the box back into her satchel and rose to her feet, directing herself towards the hold. She told herself she felt lighter; she told herself that being able to set aside the coin was a turning point. It's not like she needed it anymore anyway. She had that new necklace from Tia. What good was a silly old coin, anyway? Just a reminder of things better left forgotten, really. And now, she had a pouch free for her favourite food. Better and better. Squirrel's smile was false, even to herself, and the reassurances she muttered as she descended into the hold were sounding more and more like excuses.

She found her lantern and her slate, and tried to resume her work, but couldn't concentrate. She stood in dark silence for a moment, thinking… or trying not to think. She tapped her bandaged hand against a support beam, then walked, trying to clear her head. As she ducked around one of the many crates in the hold, one of her belt-pouches hit the side of the box with a light _thunk_. Squirrel paused, reminded, then went back and sat down beside her lantern. In the light, she pulled out the stolen bottle, and examined it one more time.

She'd not seen it since that night in Tia's hut. The glass still shone, unblemished; the circular symbol on the bottle still puzzled her. Squirrel let her eyes follow the lines, trying to figure out where one began and ended. She fingered the jade stopper, that strange coiling snake with deer horns and a lion's mane. The glass and the stone were cool and comforting. She held up the bottle, and examined the liquid in the light from her lantern. The liquid had no colour, and seemingly no texture either, though it was hard to tell through the glass.

"_Shou_," Squirrel murmured, her eyes drawn back to the symbol. She hadn't known where the word had come from. What was this that she held? What was this… this bottle of '_shou_'? There was only one way to find out. With a wry smile, Squirrel put her fingers around the stopper, and pulled it free.

There was no pop, no hiss, no noise whatsoever. Squirrel put the bottle under her nose and inhaled, trying to discern by smell what the bottle contained. It was… strong, whatever it was. Squirrel pulled back, pulling a sour face. Pungent and strong, to the point of being overwhelming. It was no perfume, that was for certain. Squirrel frowned, and made to stopper the bottle again.

Then something made her hesitate.

She stared a long time at that tiny bottle. She stared at it, long and hard. No thoughts crawled through her head, no whispered warnings or hushed urgings. The light from the lantern made the bottle sparkle and gleam, but cast shadows everywhere else.

Finally, Squirrel lifted the bottle to her lips and drank.

The liquid seared her tongue, sour and bitter and… there was no describing its unpleasantness. Squirrel quickly spat out the sip she'd taken, her spittle like a breeching whale's, then wiped her mouth on her sleeve. The taste lingered in her mouth. Squirrel glared at the bottle, as though it were an opponent in a fight.

And then she tilted back her head and drained the bottle dry.

The liquid - whatever it was - seared her throat as it went down, causing Squirrel to gasp and cough. Too late, she realised what a fool she'd been. She had no idea what that bottle contained. Even the briefest of tastes could have been dangerous. Fatal, even. Squirrel rose quickly to her feet. _I have to_…

Whatever she'd intended to do, whoever she intended to find, was forgotten. Something surged through her blood, quick and venomous. Squirrel's eyes rolled, and she gagged, trying to keep her balance and maintain her course. But her head was spinning and the world seemed to be enveloped in a haze. Squirrel couldn't even see her hands in front of her face. She tripped over crates and barrels, and even knocked over the lantern - she could tell because her world was suddenly plunged into darkness, and there was the smell of smoke - in her haste to try to leave the hold. She gasped, hiccuped, tried to call out for someone. But her throat was raw and useless.

Her feet stumbled as the planking gave way beneath her feet. She fell, landing on her wounded hand, and made a gurgling cry that even she could barely hear. She was trapped, trapped in a tiny space no bigger than a coffin.

Still gasping, she somehow managed to flip herself over, and lay wheezing in the dark. Whatever it was that she'd just drank, she could feel it working through her brain, making her feel light-headed; she still held her senses but she could not trust them. Her hand throbbed, but distantly, as though it didn't matter. Her body felt as heavy as lead - her eyelids fluttered closed, and she could not even muster the strength to open them again. She could barely breathe, and every breath she let out was a pained cough. Soon, she didn't even possess that strength - her breath came and went in near-silence through parted lips. She tilted, precariously, on the borderline between unconsciousness and wakeful delirium.

_You fool_.


	12. Rise And Fall

**Disclaimer**: Don' talk t' me abou' deh wort' of discleemers.

**A/N**: Not much to report here. No spoilers or nothing. Unless you haven't seen DMC.

* * *

Squirrel lay in the dark, her head throbbing, unable to move or call out. The '_shou_' - whatever it was - still coursed through her veins. She could feel it, but she had no idea what it was doing to her. Whatever it was, it wasn't good. 

Squirrel tried to open her eyes again, but couldn't. Her body was heavier than the lead weights tied to her arms. The air she breathed felt viscous. She felt hemmed in by the coffin she'd stumbled into.

_Coffin?_ She roused out of delirium for a moment. _There's no coffin in the hold. Where am I?_

And then she was swept under the haze, and the thought was lost. Adrift in her senses and weighed down by her own body, Squirrel felt alone and helpless. Trapped.

And then the song started.

Squirrel doubted her own senses for a moment. Of all the times for that lullaby to start up, this was the most inappropriate. Yet the more she tried to push it out of her head, the more surely it seemed to play. Involuntarily, she reached out for the song, using it like an anchor chain to keep her from falling into a deeper darkness. Squirrel's lips moved, forming the words she'd found to that song, but she had no strength or breath to sing. The familiar sound - strange and dreamlike as it was - soothed her, and seemed to lessen the throbbing hazy dizziness.

It was then she realised that the song wasn't in her head.

Squirrel lay there, still in the darkness, breathing silently, listening… and the song played on, coming from somewhere behind her in the darkness. The gentle ringing tones of a music box.

Under her eyelids, swaying shapes and coloured lights moved and swayed, dancing in the night sky. Squirrel watched, fascinated, still silently singing to herself. She'd heard stories about these Northern Lights, the Aurora Borealis, but she'd never seen them. The lights danced and swayed; curtains, ribbons, waterfalls, roads and paths. So beautiful.

Below her, the sea. Squirrel moved - flying - down to the surface of the water, and leant down and cut the waves with her left hand. The water sent up stars and coloured sparks, splashing her face, cool and refreshing. She wanted to laugh for the sheer joy of it, but she had to keep singing, even if the words could not be heard. Squirrel looked up, and saw a ship. With merely a thought, she was there, floating in the air just above the rigging, looking down at the ship. The smile died on her lips as she saw who it contained.

The lullaby changed from gentle music-box melody to a harsh and pounding heartbeat, the sound of a huge pipe organ roaring through her senses.

The _Flying Dutchman_ crossed the sea with oily grace, her sails and timbers encrusted and enslimed just as Squirrel remembered. The misshapen crew crowded the decks, shouting and moving, course and ugly in what they'd chosen to become. A whip cracked, and a man screamed. The air smelled of bile and blood and salt and decay. Squirrel moved quickly here, not wanting to linger, or to be noticed. The song thudded in her ears, and her lips continued to form unheard words.

She flew swiftly from above the deck, taking refuge in a cabin. The captain's cabin. The doors slammed behind her. She saw the figure of Davy Jones, but did not turn and flee. He did not see her, did not turn when she hovered at his shoulder, at his side. He could have been brooding over a pile of maps, or a chest full of human life. Yet he was not. He was playing the pipe organ, the same one Squirrel heard roaring in her ears. With his crab-hand and his many-tentacled beard, Captain Jones was throwing himself into his music, pouring out his soul.

And what a soul.

Squirrel watched pityingly, still singing, as the Captain snarled and growled, his eyes closed to the world around him. He saw nothing but his memories. He seemed angry, bitter, raging against fate. But there was a pinch to his brows, a look on his face which Squirrel knew all too well.

Pain. Sorrow. Regret.

Squirrel found herself in the air again, looking down at the _Dutchman_. Below her, a long dark shape lurked beneath the surface of the waves. It barely seemed to move, yet it followed faithfully in the _Dutchman_'s shadow. A guardian? A trained beast? Or a child hiding behind his mother's skirts? It was the Kraken's heartbeat that Squirrel had heard, that _thump-thump-gasp_ of the ancient creature's massive heart. It was this heartbeat that was the backbone to the entire song.

_We're all bound to it_, Squirrel thought, not pausing in her singing. _We're all bound to the sea_.

The weather changed, and night into twilight. Davy Jones stood in the crow's nest staring out to sea, washed by the fury of a storm. He could have been laughing, or throwing his arms into the air mockingly, savagely joyful, yet he stood stoic and silent. Such pain in his eyes, such bitterness. To have loved a woman of the sea was both his greatest joy and his greatest regret.

The Kraken swirled below the _Dutchman_, restless and uneasy. Davy Jones glanced at it, then sighed heavily. He lifted his eyes to the eastern horizon - and his eyes locked with Squirrel's.

Squirrel pushed back in the air, trying to get away, but her own words rang true. Tied to the sea, she could not pull free of Davy's gaze. Her wings vanished, and Squirrel plummeted, falling towards the ocean. She hit the water with a splash, and the sound of the song vanished as she fell beneath the waves. All she heard was the mighty heartbeat of the Kraken, a sound which overpowered every other sense and shook her body. The Kraken turned in the water, fixing Squirrel with a huge, fathomless eye. Squirrel - had she not already been doing so - would have held her breath at the sight. The ancient beast swept an arm towards her, not to harm her, but to beckon. Beckon, as it did the day that the _Pearl_ was crushed beneath the waves.

The heartbeat suddenly ceased, and Squirrel was lying on her back in the darkness, eyes closed, the _Diana_'s wooden timbers hard beneath her back. She lay perfectly still, and only her lips still moved. The song was not over yet. The music-box resumed playing, but slower now, as though it were winding down. As though the gears themselves were tired and burdened.

_Waves shall rise, and waves shall fall_, Squirrel mouthed in time with the notes, _Over land and sea I'll call_…

Someone sighed, a breath not Squirrel's own. Squirrel froze, startled, the final lines of the song withheld. She listened, straining her ears, but all that she could hear were the final notes of the music-box. And then… silence.

Someone stood up, their clothes rustling faintly; the music-box was closed with a snap. Footsteps climbed the stairs out of the hold, and Squirrel was left alone in the silence.

She counted seventy-five of her slow breaths before she shakily sat up. In her hand she still clutched the empty bottle. In the darkness, Squirrel winced, pained and afraid. That poison she'd drank - for what else could it have been? - had robbed her of her senses. How long had she been down here, lying in the dark, struggling with life itself?

And with dreams. Dark dreams. What _had_ been a fevered dream, and what had been reality? Surely the sight of the _Dutchman_ had been a dream - she couldn't fly, and she was in the hold of the _Diana_. She hadn't left the ship. But the song? She'd heard that song in a dream, weeks ago. Yet here… someone aboard this very ship possessed a music-box that played that very same tune.

"Impossible," Squirrel whispered. A wave of dizziness swept over her, forcing her to curl up on her side until it passed. Her head throbbed - no longer light-headed and hazy, she was simply wracked with a dull pain. A mother of a headache. After all that dizziness and ache and being paralysed, all she had left to suffer was a headache. She sighed, relieved, but was still worried. _What on Earth possessed you to drink that whole bottle down?_ She raged against herself. And she had no answer.

"Stupid," she muttered, gradually forcing herself to her feet. "Stupid, stupid, stupid." She found herself lying in a strange hollow - what she'd believed to be a coffin was simply the design of the caravel. She'd lain in the space where the keel sliced the water below; the timbers of the wood sloped into a narrow space the width of a coffin. She shivered as she heaved herself upright. With great care for her spinning head and her rolling stomach, Squirrel put the empty bottle back into her pouch, got her bearings, and left the hold behind. She followed the dim light that filtered through the _Diana_'s planking, and staggered through the wooden corridors of the ship.

* * *

Like a moth, Squirrel was drawn to the warmth and the light of the fire; the fires that burned in the galley. With an uncertain tread, she staggered upwards, towards the smells of cooking food and burning wood. She'd surely find someone there, a friend to help her and see her right again. 

Tia ceased her tasks as soon as Squirrel entered the doorway, and her dark eyes widened. "Miss Greeh! What happen to you?"

"Headache," Squirrel slurred, throwing herself down in a vacant chair. A wave of dizziness was washing over her again - she wouldn't be able to leave the galley even if she tried. Of all the people she'd wanted to see, Tia was not one of them.

"Yeh look so pehl." The swamp woman put a hand on Squirrel's forehead briefly. "No fever; dat's good. But what happen to you, dat you should fall so ill?"

Squirrel pillowed her head on her folded arms. "I don't know."

"Did yeh get much sleep last night?"

Squirrel shook her head, staring at the timbers of the table. "Couldn't," she answered shortly, "Didn't want to."

Tia clucked her tongue. "Ah'll mek yeh some tea. It'll help wit' deh peen." With a swish of her dress, she turned back to the galley fires.

"Not to sound rude," Squirrel lifted her head, watching as Tia set a copper kettle over the flames, "But what are you doing here?"

Tia smiled at Squirrel, her teeth as darkly inked as ever. "Dere's no need fer me at deh moment, but I t'ought I'd mek mesel' useful."

"Gibbs won't like that," Squirrel mumbled, the throbbing of her head returning in force for the moment.

"Joshamee Gibbs 'as 'is own dooties to worry 'bout," Tia said matter-of-factly. "I don' intend to steey 'ere long." She put an empty mug on the table, and measured pinches of herbs into it. "I'll be gone long afore he comes below."

Squirrel closed her eyes, too weary and disoriented to continue the conversation. She rested her head again on her arms, and listened to the sounds that washed around her. Tia's bare feet brushing against the floor, her golden dress swishing like a broom; the flames crackling faintly, whispering as they ate at the logs they'd been fed; the water in the kettle coming to boil; Squirrel's own breath.

"Here," Tia said, rousing Squirrel from her half-doze. "Drink dis. Willa-bark tea. It'll do you good."

Squirrel slowly drank at the bitter brew, all the while under Tia's watchful eye. Squirrel found herself becoming slowly nervous - Tia's eyes were hard, and the woman herself stood in front of Squirrel with her arms folded. Had Tia known about the theft? Did she know now? Squirrel wanted to ask Tia for an antidote for that poison - if there was one - but to ask for such a thing would reveal Squirrel's theft. She didn't want to own up to that - how could she possibly explain it? She waited for the axe to fall, for Tia's inevitable question.

"Miss Greeh…"

Squirrel unconsciously tensed her shoulders. _Here it comes_.

"Why did you ask Mistah Turnah to teach you deh sword?"

Squirrel looked up, thrown by the seeming non-sequitur. "What?" Tia just continued to stare evenly, waiting for a response. Squirrel shrugged, forcing herself to sit upright. "I just wanted to learn," she said, the pain in her head lessening with each passing moment. "I couldn't sleep, and Will was practicing, so I asked him to teach me."

"An' he agreed?"

"Of course." Squirrel frowned. "Why? What… why is that a problem?"

Tia's disapproving frown deepened slightly. "You shouldn't need to know such a t'ing, Miss Greeh. Ye're able to defend yerself jus' fine."

Squirrel barked a laugh. "By throwing rocks? By running away?" She shook her head. "That's no defence against a Kraken. And certainly no good on a ship at sea."

"Learning a sword don't meek you a better pirate." Tia's eyes glittered, black diamonds. "Ye're not lackin' in anyt'ing just because yeh use a diff'rent weapon."

Squirrel looked at Tia, a hint of accusation in her gaze. "Is there any particular reason why you don't want me to learn the sword from Will?" Tia's only reaction was a slight movement of the head. A short silence stretched between the two women, a silence in which Squirrel realised that the answer lay in the question.

"Be keer-ful, Miss Greeh," Tia murmured. She unfolded her arms, and opened one of her fists. On the woman's palm lay a silver coin. She started flipping the coin from hand to hand, her eyes never leaving Squirrel's. "One dee," she added, "Yeh coin gon' land on is edge." She caught the coin in a fist.

Squirrel frowned, senses still muzzy from the poison. "Is that a threat?"

Tia opened her fist and showed Squirrel her empty palm. Squirrel blinked in surprise before she realised Tia had only performed a simple sleight-of-hand; a trick to delight children, but nothing to be impressed with.

"I prefer to sey is just a warnin'," Tia's silent disapproval melted into motherly concern as she sighed. "Yeh meey be able t' predict deh way a dice fall, and yeh mey be able t' read men's choices, but 'earts are deengerous. Don' t'ink yeh can predict 'ow dey will land."

"Riddles," Squirrel muttered, and rested her head on her arms again.

Tia took Squirrel's empty mug and examined the tea-leaves critically, then looked at Squirrel with some measure of pity. "Miss Greeh, yeh're becomin' more like deh sea wit' each passing dee. Dat's no way to deal wit' a broken 'eart."

Squirrel swallowed the last bitter taste of the tea, taking with it something else. "Tia," she murmured, lifting her head, "I don't want this." At Tia's surprised look, Squirrel continued, "I don't want your premonitions, or your riddles, or your futures told from cards." She sat up, shaking her head, the cobwebs slowly clearing from her mind. She spoke gently, trying to soften the edge of her words. "Unless you speak from experience, then I don't want to hear what you have to say."

Tia looked long at Squirrel, still cradling the empty mug. A long silence passed between the two women; neither of them speaking, but neither of them looking away from the other, either. Finally, Tia drew herself upright.

"I speak from experience." She whispered, her voice like a morning mist. Her grief was both as familiar and as foreign as the taste of the salt spray, and as profound as the ocean itself.

Squirrel lowered her eyes. "Then I apologise," she murmured, sincerely, touched by what Tia had revealed.

Tia said nothing for a long moment. Then, she turned away, back to the fire. "I don' need your friends to tell me dat you're chengin', Miss Greeh. I ken see it meself." She sighed. "More an' more like deh sea."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Squirrel asked. "For a woman to have a bit more depth than just a pretty face?" She would have laughed, and added, _Seeing as I have no pretty face to begin with?_ if she'd been more bold. If she hadn't wanted to offend Tia - and therefore have to apologise - again.

Tia turned back, the sorrow still in her eyes. "Is it a good t'ing for a woman to be so deep dat none can fat'om 'er t'oughts? Is it a good t'ing dat deh chenge cause a woman to be all alone? Is it a good t'ing that who a woman is leads men to dere deat's?"

Squirrel stiffened, sitting upright once more. Tia's words - either chosen very carefully, or very poorly - had opened still-raw wounds. Every day there was something to remind her of those poor dead sailors. About the deaths that were on her head. Tia seemed to understand, and sighed faintly.

"I mean no offence," Tia shrugged, "And neit'er do you. Yet somehow words 'ave dat power, whet'er we mean it or no." She managed a small smile, but there was still sadness in her eyes. "I ken't chenge what ye're becomin', Miss Greeh. Only you can. By all means, learn 'ow t' use deh sword if dat's what yeh wish. But be keerful."

"I know," Squirrel murmured, rising to her feet and staggering out of the galley. "The coin on its edge." _Whatever that means_.

Tia went back to her contemplation of the herbs in the bottom of the mug, a faint frown around the corners of her eyes.

* * *

Barbossa was standing at the stern, looking back the way they'd come. The monkey on this shoulder chirped once at Squirrel's approach. 

"Good day, angel," Barbossa said, without even turning around.

"Captain," Squirrel greeted him in return, coming to stand beside him.

Barbossa looked sidelong down at her. "Perhaps," he said, his expression unchanged, "It's for the best if ye not refer to me as such."

Squirrel frowned. "I don't follow you."

Barbossa's mouth pulled sideways in a half-smile. "Oh, I think ye do, angel." He shrugged, looking out to sea again. "There's only one captain of this ship, and at the moment, he's nothin' but a memory. I may have held the title of captain once, but to hold it now is something akin t' sacrilege." The monkey on his shoulder leapt down onto Squirrel's shoulder, and started playing with her hair.

"So…" Squirrel frowned, looking out to sea. "What, then? Do I call you Barbossa, or Hector, or something else?"

Barbossa smiled his amused grey smile. "Hector when we're alone," he burred, "Barbossa in company. And 'sir' when you're not sure of either."

Squirrel breathed a laugh. "Very well then… Hector." She gently scratched the monkey under the chin, and was rewarded with a scratch behind the ear. She laughed again, this time at the animal's antics. The monkey chattered, pleased with itself, then resumed playing with Squirrel's hair.

"Oh," Barbossa paused, "That reminds me." He pulled a small pouch from out of his coat pocket. "Here," Barbossa said, handing it to her. "Your cut." The small bag was heavy, and rang metallic. Money. And in a large amount, too.

Squirrel tilted her head, confused. "What's this?"

"Your cut," Barbossa repeated, with a smile. "Ye saw the _Diana_ first, and ye came up with the plan to catch her. Every man aboard's getting paid for their work, so why not ye? Ye're part of this crew." He pointed to the horizon, where the sea and the sky met in a hazy line. "We'll soon sight land, so it'll come in handy." Squirrel frowned at the pouch she'd been given, silent and brooding. Barbossa noticed the look in her eyes. His smile faded, but his expression did not. "Somethin' the matter, angel?"

"It's nothing," Squirrel said, lost in thought. "It's just… I've never been paid before. Not even when I worked on Tortuga." Barbossa raised an eyebrow. Squirrel suddenly realised what her words meant to someone who didn't know who she was. "No, no, no!" She said, frantic and flustered, "Not like that! No! No, I worked for my uncle, in a tavern." She laughed, trying to diffuse the situation. "I just helped my uncle rig his games, and as a scullery maid, that's all. I wasn't a whore. I'm not."

"I know," Barbossa said, amused once more. "The crew told me about ye."

"Oh. Well, good." Squirrel forced away the embarrassment with a faint breath of laughter. She tightened her grip around the pouch she held, as if to assure herself that what she held was real. "Thankyou," she said, after a pause. "Thankyou, Hector."

Barbossa acknowledged her thanks with a nod, but he wore a thoughtful smile. "All that time while ye were aboard the _Black Pearl_," He murmured, "As 'lookout, cook and occasional quartermaster'… And ye were never paid fer your work?"

Squirrel shook her head. "No," she said, looking at the pouch she held. "I'd always thought that being allowed to be on the _Pearl_, and being useful, was payment enough." Her brow furrowed. "It's foolish, now I think of it."

Barbossa gave a grunt. "Aye. But not due t' yerself. Rather, due t' a fool who measures people's worth by how useful they are t' him." Squirrel nodded, glad Barbossa was the one to voice the reason her eyes were so dark. Barbossa shook his head disparagingly and sighed. "Well, as long as I'm aboard, angel, I'll see to it that ye're paid fer what ye do." He smiled. The monkey leapt back up onto his shoulder. "Not long until we reach Africa, especially if this wind holds up. First port we reach, ye're free to spend your wages as ye wish."

"I don't want for anything," Squirrel shrugged, shaking the coin pouch slightly.

"Then buy things for the betterment of the ship and the journey," Barbossa suggested. "I'm sure none'll complain." His eyes strayed out over the deck, and narrowed slightly. "Watch is changin'. Best if I made meself scarce." He nodded to Squirrel, then started back to his cabin. Squirrel waited at the railing a moment, then called to him.

"Captain."

Barbossa looked back over his shoulder, and raised an eyebrow.

"Barbossa," Squirrel amended with a smile, "Thankyou for the lesson earlier. And for helping me see my strengths."

Barbossa smiled, silently thanking her. "Well, when it comes to the cutlass, with your speed and grace ye'd do well. But it's best I leave the teachin' to Mister Turner," he added, "Wouldn't want people to get the wrong idea about you and I, angel." He touched the brim of his hat in salute before turning away. The monkey made a small bow to her as well.

Squirrel tossed and caught the coin pouch in her hand before looking back out over the ocean, back the way they'd come.

**

* * *

A/N:** I try to reply to every review if I can. Just so you know. And chapters get posted faster with more reviews -_innocentface_- Also, Squirrel's song will be posted as a poem later on, once a few more chapters have been written. 


	13. To Hell And Back

**Disclaimer**: You're nothing but skin and bones, and you probably taste like… pigeon!

**A/N**: You're going to kill me because of this chapter. I just know it. But I'm happy with the way it turned out. Mucho angst. That's all the warning I'm going to give.

* * *

Squirrel leant against the foremast, a silent sentinel. But this time, she did not stare out to sea. She stared across instead to where the crew were gathered, seated in a circle on the deck, laughing and joking amongst themselves. And in the middle of them all, Elizabeth Swann sat and smiled, golden in the light of the sun. 

Squirrel's face and eyes betrayed nothing, but her gut was churning. She wanted to close her eyes, perhaps, or at the very least to turn her head. But part of her couldn't look away. So she just kept watching, seeing Elizabeth being so welcomed, so comforted.

She was struck by the unfairness of it all. But what could she do? The crew loved her, welcomed them as one of their own. They'd all been fooled by the governor's daughter's pretty painted face. If only they knew the truth. If only they knew the reason why the captain they'd all followed was dead. Then they wouldn't be so welcoming.

They hadn't been so welcoming of Squirrel when she first came aboard. Squirrel had been treated with distant respect, and some care, but she was seen as just part of the crew. Elizabeth… she was treated like royalty, in comparison.

Squirrel's eyes finally drew away of their own accord, and found Barbossa and Tia standing together at the aft railing. They stood together, heads bowed, talking faintly. Tia's hands made sweeping, rolling gestures, and Barbossa replied with stoic, thoughtful nods or the change of a stance. The sight of Barbossa and Tia conversing was a surprise to Squirrel. Barbossa glanced over his shoulder, prompted by Tia's unheard words, and glanced without seeming to at Squirrel. He looked back to Tia, who nodded grimly. Squirrel felt insulted. Were they talking about her? Surely that wasn't true; just mere paranoia. But why was someone Squirrel trusted talking to someone she didn't?

_What did you expect?_ She told herself. _He's a dead man, and she's the one who brought him back to life. If that's truly what happened. Of course they'd be talking. He'd trust her_. It felt like a betrayal, though Squirrel couldn't say why_. Everyone has their secrets_.

Words from months ago came faintly back to her. On one of the nights when Squirrel had not been in the highest of spirits, Ana had come to her to offer words which were supposed to comfort, in Ana's pragmatic, no-nonsense manner. As Squirrel had watched Jack saunter off to another tavern, a whore under each arm and a bottle in each hand, Ana had murmured, "For a woman who follows the sea, life is always lonely. A woman can have her friends, her shipmates, her lovers even, but she'll always be alone. We're always the odd ones out, left standing alone. It's just how the waters are, girl." Squirrel had flushed and moved away, hurt at the time. She'd not wanted cold practicality; she'd wanted understanding and sympathy. But now, she saw the wisdom of her friend's words.

_Barbossa and Tia_, she thought, _Will and Elizabeth, Pintel and Ragetti, Marty and Gibbs, Cotton and his parrot. Even that pirate had his bloody _Black Pearl_. Everyone has someone_. Squirrel bowed her head. _But_ _I have no-one. I stand alone_.

_More like the sea with each passing day_.

She felt a weight suddenly land on her shoulder, and looked to see the monkey smiling at her. She made a short laugh at the situation, at the monkey's appropriate timing. "I'm sorry," Squirrel said, half-smiling, "I don't think it'll work out between you and me." The monkey pouted, and she scratched him apologetically under the chin. "I'm going to have to find a new name for you," she murmured, "Seeing as how I can't say… the other name. Any suggestions?" The monkey chattered at her, then leapt down off her shoulder, and went to go torment Cotton's parrot. Squirrel watched the rascal go, a wry smile about her lips.

Following the monkey's path, Squirrel's eyes were drawn once again to Elizabeth. Miss Swann alone did not seem startled by the animal's sudden appearance in the circle of crewmen. She picked it up by the scruff of the neck, said something sharply, and set the now-well-behaved animal back down on the deck. And the conversation resumed as normal.

Squirrel's smile had faded to nothingness. Elizabeth looked so happy, so carefree, so glad to be a part of this. And she fit in so well. Elizabeth had shed tears that night, when the _Pearl_ had sank, but now it seemed as though nothing could slow her down. Didn't it weigh on her conscience? Deaths of men Squirrel didn't even know weighed on hers. Surely the death of one - especially the one man you yourself condemn to die, betrayed by a kiss - should be a constant twist of the knife. Did Elizabeth feel anything? Or was it just something she'd done, and forgotten? Whatever she felt, Elizabeth hid it well: from the rest of the crew; from Squirrel; from Will.

"Everyone has their secrets," Squirrel murmured, like a faint hiss of sea-spray.

She heard footsteps behind her, soft and stealthy, like a guilty man's tread. She heard the sound of his coat, the now-familiar sound his boots made across the deck; she heard his breath, his resolve; the polite way he hesitated before he spoke. She knew who it was who stood behind her long before he spoke.

"I need to talk to you." He came up and stood beside her, staring determinedly forward.

Squirrel smiled sadly. "Look at her, Will. She's so beautiful." The man beside her stiffened, almost angry, then softened as he looked upon his beloved. Encircled by the crew, Elizabeth threw back her head and laughed. Her hair was caught by a puff of wind and lifted into the air like a halo of spun gold. The crew beat out the time, and the sounds of Elizabeth's pure voice singing a course pirate chantey carried across the _Diana_'s deck.

"She's beautiful, smart, resourceful…" Squirrel shook her head, smiling through the envy. "A fine woman. I can see why you fell in love with her."

Will said nothing for a long moment. Then, without taking his eyes from Elizabeth, he asked, "What about you and Jack?"

This time it was Squirrel's turn to tense her shoulders, but she soon released the tension with a sigh. "I fell in love with him because he was… freedom." Will looked at Squirrel, curiously, but did not interrupt. "I was a prisoner. But every time I saw that pirate swagger into town, I'd see what it would be like to be free. And I could be happy, for while." Squirrel sighed again. "Just a dream, William. Just a dream."

Will considered this for a moment, then seemed to change the topic, though his words followed the course. "Why are you coming?" He asked, voice low. "Why did you say you'd be a part of this?"

Squirrel looked at Will, half-frowning. She was surprised to see him wearing his vest. She'd not seen him wearing that since the day Will had taught her how to swim. The bloodstain was still as noticeable as ever. She forced herself to meet Will's eyes. "Is that what you wanted to ask me, William?"

"You've never given me a straight answer," Will said, matching her gaze evenly. "I understand that the _Pearl_ was your home, but that doesn't mean you can't make a home somewhere else. I've seen the way you looked at Jack, but I see something different in your eyes now, every time someone mentions his name." Squirrel had to look away; Will softened his tone. "Why are you doing this? Why make this promise? Why travel to the ends of the earth?" He paused, waiting, but she stood mute. The calming touch of Will's blacksmith hands made her turn, made her lift her eyes. "Please, Squirrel. I want to know the truth."

Squirrel would have remained silent if it hadn't been for that vest that Will wore, the vest that bore her handprint in blood. She would have turned away if it hadn't been for Will's plea for the truth. She would have said nothing if it wasn't for that way that he said her name.

"The night you were captured by Davy Jones," Squirrel said, soft and faint, her voice almost lost under the strains of the chantey and the waves and the wind, "I told the pirate who'd betrayed you that I would sail to the ends of the earth and beyond for him." Squirrel's hair fell into her face like a curtain, but a curtain she did not hide behind. "I told him I would do the impossible, if only he could be a good man."

Will frowned. "You're doing this because you think Jack will change? Because you think he's a good man? I thought you said you couldn't believe…"

"I'm not finished, William." Squirrel looked up at him, peering through her hair. She looked across the deck, where Pintel and Ragetti had broken into a jig; Elizabeth joined them, dancing with the two pirates, linked between their arms. She was laughing - they all were. Stifling the queasy, unsettled feeling in her gut, Squirrel looked back to Will, and motioned with a slight jerk of the head that Will should follow her to the prow.

Their tread matched each other's: soft, faint, and light. But both hearts were burdened and heavy. The sound of the crew and Miss Swann was muted - the sound of the sea, the wind and the ship were stronger here. Standing behind the _Diana_'s figurehead, Squirrel glanced at the man standing beside her. His eyes were pained, but patient; curious, but caring.

"I told him I would sail to the ends of the earth and beyond," Squirrel resumed, her voice still a whisper. "I told a man not worth following that I would follow him." Will waited, knowing that there was more to come. The sea washed around the ship, sending up small cascades of spray. The wind was strong, but seemed to leave Squirrel and Will alone. It avoided the pair of them, filling the sails instead.

"I don't know which one of us is worse off," Squirrel said slowly. "You, for having loved and lost, or me, for never having my love returned in the first place."

Will weighed her words, thoughtful. He had no answer for her. Perhaps neither of them was worse off than the other - they both suffered equally. But still he waited, knowing that Squirrel would eventually answer his question.

"He knew I loved him. He knew. But for all my words and actions, he never said anything to me of the like." Squirrel's words were an outpouring of all she'd denied, all she'd refused to think of. It hurt to speak of such things, but it was like the old wounds needed vinegar poured on them before they could be healed. _If_ they could be healed. "He never said he loved me. I doubt he ever did. He kept me around because my attentions were fuel for his ego. I didn't see that." Squirrel shook her head. "I wanted to be his everything, just as he was my everything." She closed her eyes and sighed. "Foolish."

"You're not foolish." Will assured her gently. "You were in love."

Squirrel took a breath, and noted wryly. "Is there is a difference?"

Will changed his stance, standing side-on, looking straight at Squirrel. He almost agreed, but her words had struck a jarring chord. Squirrel continued to stand facing the oncoming sea. She couldn't face Will. Not yet.

"Is this a journey of revenge, then?" Will asked, slightly saddened, almost conspiratorial.

Squirrel shook her head. "No. It's a journey to find the key to my cage." She shrugged, looking sidelong at Will. "I deserve a life too. One that doesn't revolve around that pirate. And the only way I can be free from him is if I'm able to look him in the eye and feel nothing for him." Squirrel paused a moment, then let out a short bark of a laugh. "It's a fool's errand, I know. I'll just fall into that trap all over again." She saw, out of the corner of her eye, Will lift up a hand to comfort her; saw that hand ball into a fist and drop back down again.

"You've not cried for him," Will noted, cautiously.

"Of course." Squirrel agreed. "I lied for him, stole for him… I even condemned men to watery graves for him. Yet all I got in return was a broken heart. Is it any wonder I'm not going to cry for him?" She looked to Will. "You've not cried for Elizabeth."

Will looked away, a spark of something in his eyes. "She's not dead."

"Neither is that pirate," Squirrel murmured, "If this voyage is any indication of that. But Tia told me I was wise in not weeping for the dead." She sighed again. And a little voice inside her, soft and emotional, added, _You don't feel wise, do you_. It wasn't a question. She didn't, but she wasn't going to admit that. Even to her own conscience.

Will took a breath, and lifted his eyes to Squirrel, steering the conversation back on course. "If your love for Jack is so foolish," He asked, gentle and inoffensive, "If you think he's a man not worth following, then why are you here?"

Squirrel closed her eyes, fighting with herself. Will had asked for the truth. But did he really wish to know it? Surely, it would it do more harm than good to share such a burden. But… how would she ever know, if she did not speak her mind? _He asked for the truth. He deserves to have it_. Squirrel opened her eyes, and turned to face Will.

"I said I would sail to the ends of the earth and beyond for him," Squirrel said, "But I'm not doing this for him."

Will tilted his head, confused. But he waited.

Squirrel steeled herself. "I'm not doing this for him. I'm not even doing this for me. I'm doing this for you." She took a breath. "I'll sail to Hell and back… for you."

Will jolted, eyes wide. He took a step back, unsettled and uncomfortable, then forward again as to cover up any offence to Squirrel. But Squirrel did not mind. She'd expected much worse a reaction to her words.

"What do you mean by that?" Will asked, wary, unsettled, almost afraid.

"You're a man worth following, William," Squirrel said, her words dull; an anticlimax to her previous statement. She stared out over the vast expanse of water. "All my life, the only men I've known are cowards, liars and traitors." Her voice dropped to a whisper, "Nothing but rogues." She faced Will now, turning away from the sea to meet his eyes, and to face him honestly. "You, William, are the only good man I've ever known. A man worth following. If you decide to sail to Hell, then I'll be there at your side."

Will shook his head, still rattled by Squirrel's declaration. "Don't," he said, taking a step back.

"I'm not in love with you."

Will paused, then tilted his head. He considered Squirrel, looking at her in a completely different light now. Before, she'd been an ally. Then, for a short amount of time, she'd been… something Will couldn't comprehend. Something he hadn't expected, nor wished to. And now… what was she? What had she become?

Squirrel didn't know herself.

"If you're not in love with me," Will said, slowly and cautiously, his voice kept low, "Then why would you agree follow me?"

Squirrel smiled then, saddened amusement in her eyes. "I don't know." She shrugged helplessly, almost laughing. "I don't know. But I would." She held Will's gaze, aware of how discomforted she'd made him feel. "Please. You asked for the truth. And… I will always be honest with you, William Turner." She spoke the words clearly, making the point she needed to make. "If I am nothing else to you, I will be honest with you."

A long silence stretched between Will and Squirrel, a silence filled with unsaid things. There was a shine of uncertainty in Will's eyes, but that was slowly smothered with understanding.

"Birds of a feather," he murmured, remembering. "A pair a broken hearts."

Squirrel nodded. "Yes." She sighed a long sigh. "So, William, now you know. The reason I'm coming on this voyage is you. And that's the truth of it." She shrugged, then turned and slowly walked away. But Will followed her, walking by her side.

Together, they stood and looked out over the deck, where Elizabeth and the crew worked the ropes, their songs abandoned for the time being. Elizabeth sang as she walked the deck, her head tilted towards the sun, her skin and hair honey-golden.

"You and I both fell in love with pirates," Squirrel murmured.

Will frowned slightly. "Elizabeth isn't…" And his words trailed off as he realised. "Yes. I suppose she is," Will said, burdened by this knowledge, hurt by this realisation. "'Take what you can, give nothing back'; 'fall behind, left behind'." He closed his eyes, and sighed wearily. "I became a pirate to save her once, but it was never in my heart. It was always in hers."

Squirrel nodded, sadly. "They're rogues and they're scoundrels," she sighed, "And they break your heart, but you can't help but want to be with them." There was a faint smile about Squirrel's lips, but it was such a sad smile. "You become like them so you can be with them. But you can never be what they really want."

Will's silence spoke of his pained agreement. This time, his hand reached Squirrel's shoulder to comfort her, and lingered there. The two of them stood in companionable silence for a moment longer. Will's hand on her shoulder was such a comfort to Squirrel, though she couldn't quite place why.

"I may not be honest with anyone else," Squirrel whispered, "But I'll _always_ be honest with you, William Turner."

Will looked to Squirrel, his eyes fathomless and his expression unreadable. "And I with you, Miss Grey."

If anyone had looked over then, they would have seen Will and Squirrel standing together, looking at each other. One could presume they were discussing the weather, or the course that lay ahead, or perhaps even events which had happened before. None would have even considered what truly lay between those two.

_Everyone has their secrets_, Squirrel thought to herself, tearing her eyes away from Will. _And this is ours_.

Elizabeth looked up, and waved cheerfully to Will. Squirrel grinned, and waved, whereas Will merely nodded, too much on his mind.

"Ahh," Squirrel sighed, "I'd give my hand to have her hair colour. I'd love to be blonde." She pulled ruefully on a strand of her own mousy brown hair, then - to Will's raised eyebrow - held up her bandaged left hand, smiling as though it were all a jest. And then she turned away, crossing the deck with the breeze swirling around her. "Good day, Miss Swann!"

Elizabeth smiled. "Good day, Miss Grey!" The woman looked up to the billowing sails, grinning. She'd the sea in her blood, and it was singing. "We'll be at Africa in no time at this rate!"

"I know," Squirrel smiled, hiding her teeth behind her lips. "Not even a week to go, aye?"

"Yes!" Elizabeth grinned back, tugging on one of the ratlines, as though dying to climb up and see the wide expanse of the ocean. "What are the ports in Africa like?"

Squirrel shrugged. "Hard to say, Elizabeth. I've never been there." She frowned, amused. "Do I have to call you 'Elizabeth'?"

Elizabeth wore a matching expression. "What? No, you can call me Miss Swann, if you like."

"What about Lizzie? It's faster to say. How about it? For a friend?"

Elizabeth threw back her head and laughed. "Certainly! If you want to." Her laughter seemed brittle, suddenly, and her smile seemed to slip. There was something deep in the woman's eyes which spoke of guilt, of shame. And why not? When everyone had seen Squirrel fall weeping into the pirate's arms, Elizabeth's betrayal was made all the harder. It was as though, now, Squirrel were the reminder of the death of the pirate. And Squirrel's friendship was another load for Elizabeth to bear.

_So you do feel terrible for what you've done_, Squirrel thought. _Good. Good_. She nodded, still smiling, as though she'd not seen what Elizabeth was trying to desperately to hide. Squirrel had always been a brilliant actress. "Well, then, Lizzie, I've got some chores to do below, so I'll leave you to it. Good day."

"Good day!" Elizabeth hauled herself up into the rigging, moving surely, but not nearly as gracefully as she had been dancing. She scrambled, reaching faster than her legs could keep up. It was as though she were trying to escape.

Squirrel glanced back at Will, expecting his eyes to be following his fiancée as she climbed ever higher. But he was staring at Squirrel, and their eyes met and locked across the distance of the deck. The handprint stain on his vest was so, so noticeable. Squirrel nodded to him, a polite greeting, as though they'd not spoken. Will nodded in return, then joined the crew at the ropes. Yet he moved slowly, still lost in thought.

Squirrel stood alone, and looked out to sea, her hand straying to her necklace. The five points under her hand were warm, warmed by her skin. She fingered one of the diamonds, recalling all she'd said. It was too late to consider whether this was all just a mistake. Too late to get her words back. Too late to go to Will and apologise; what was there to apologise about? She'd spoken the truth, just as Will had asked. Tia's warning suddenly came into Squirrel's mind. _One day that coin will land on its edge_. The warning seemed ominously closer now, even though Squirrel still did not know what it meant.

The edges of the diamond Squirrel was fingering were smooth, well-sanded down; they didn't rasp against or snag her fingers. Yet Squirrel knew that this was the stone (or the bone, or the piece of fossilised wood) that was marred with stripes. Imperfect lines on the reverse side, cutting the otherwise perfectly smooth surface of the diamond.

Squirrel dropped her hand and looked out to sea. There was no sign of land for miles and miles in any direction. Yet she knew they were making good time. They'd be in Africa soon enough, then around the Cape they would go, through to India, and then, at the heart of the East Indies, to the island of Singapore. But it wasn't the course that they were following that concerned Squirrel anymore. She glanced at Will.

_I'm moving_, she thought, _But where am I going?_


	14. Damned

**Disclaimer**: Never trust a disclaimer.

**A/N**: Classical references abound. How many can you spot? A chunk of this was basically the first chapter I wrote for 'To World's End', and - thanks to Martian Aries's WONDERFUL fic 'Grace And Power' - the bit which inspired the beginning and a significant portion of the story. Hope you like! Rating changed from now, because this story ain't yo' average Disney fic no more.

* * *

The next two days Squirrel spent with the crew, as if to make up for the time she'd not spent with them. She helped Ragetti, teaching him his 'letters'; with Pintel she helped him understand some of 'those damnable sums' that vexed him so badly. She helped Gibbs with the cooking; played at deckhand and errand-girl, running back and forth with supplies for her friends' various duties or cleaning the caravel as best she could with her one good hand; she kept time in their merrymaking, though she sang no songs herself; she read stories, songs, poems, and laws from the Bible to and with the crew, but only the ones that did not touch her conscience too harshly. She recovered no memories, though, no matter how hard she tried to find them. When the crewmen had no tasks for her, she practiced 'swimming' with the weights on her arms, strengthening herself for the day when she would be ready to pick up a sword. She suffered no more ill effects from the drinking of the bottle of '_shou_', so she let the event completely slip her mind. The bottle she safely stowed in the satchel, wrapped in her cloak. 

Squirrel had no more meals with Barbossa, despite the fact she missed his company, his wit in conversation. Though, as had been agreed with the old captain, it was for the best as far as the rest of the crew were concerned. She spent some time with Elizabeth, though not much. There were exchanged pleasantries, and friendly smiles, but Elizabeth did not seem to wish to remain long in Squirrel's company. Squirrel barely crossed paths with Tia, though there was something akin to understanding between them now. Tia, on her part, no longer looked suspiciously or with concern at Squirrel out of the corner of her eye.

Squirrel avoided Will.

It wasn't intentional, but Squirrel had no idea what to say to Will now, or how to act in his presence. And Will seemed to feel the same way. There was nothing else that needed to be - or could be - said between them for the time being. So, they'd exchanged nods and polite words, but little else. This absence of interaction seemed to please Tia, though Squirrel couldn't fathom why.

With all of Squirrel's interactions with the crew, with all the tasks she'd busied herself in, with all the laughter and jokes and smiles she made, no-one seemed to notice that she wasn't sleeping. If anyone had cared to take the time, they might have noticed she got two, maybe three hours of sleep a day. Someone might have noticed, but if they did, no-one said anything. Squirrel was falling back into her childhood Tortugan routine - stay awake all day and night until the late-dark hours of the morning, doze until daylight, stay awake until noon, doze some more, and repeat. What sleep she did get was restless and short; it was, more often than not, self-interrupted. She'd no desire to suffer any more nightmares. They were easy enough to bear; they were only dreams, after all. But…

There was a face that continued to haunt her. A face she could not bear to see.

Lifting her eyes to the sky, to the stern-side horizon, Squirrel noted that the weather was turning. With the presence of such a strong wind, surely the clouds and storms were sure to follow. Yet after two weeks at sea, to have encountered nothing but beneficial currents and friendly winds was surprising. They'd seen no other ships, encountered no squalls or calms or foul patches of weather. It was uncanny. Squirrel was beginning to be suspicious of circumstances. The sight of anvil-shaped clouds following in the _Diana_'s wake was something of a relief.

"Ah!" Tia crossed the deck. She, too, was contemplating the sky, though with amusement, rather than Squirrel's thoughtfulness. "A storm is on is weey."

"I'm glad," Squirrel shrugged, smiling faintly, "Clear weather and sunshine is all well and good, but it gets a bit boring after a while."

Tia made a _humph_ in the back of her throat, but she smiled her sibyl's smile in return. "So yeh seey." She went over to the railing, and looked down. A moment later, she let out a delighted laugh. Squirrel, curious despite herself, joined Tia at the railing.

Down in the _Diana_'s wake, a pod of dolphins was cavorting in the foam, their slick silver bodies leaping in and out of the caravel's path. One dolphin, with powerful strokes of its tail, leapt up into the air, close enough to the ship that Squirrel could see the intelligence and joy in one of the creature's eyes. Tia applauded, laughing, before the dolphin crashed back down in the water to join its brethren.

"Beautiful, aren't dey?" Tia's smile was almost too wide for her face, and her eyes were shining. "Deh children of deh sea! 'ow dey love t' pleey!" Squirrel couldn't help but smile at the dolphins as they danced and spun in the _Diana_'s wake. They seemed so carefree. So glad to be alive. Tia clapped, and shouted something in a strange tongue. Two dolphins leapt up into the air, spinning around each other in an acrobatic display. Tia laughed again, "_Bon! Bon!_" The dolphins seemed to smile at her before diving back into the waves.

"Gibbs!" Squirrel turned and called to her friend. "Come see this! Dolphins!"

Gibbs grinned, and joined Squirrel at the railing. "Ah! A sign o' luck at long last!"

Pintel and Ragetti also came over, and peered cautiously over the edge. "Storm-pigs," Pintel muttered. Ragetti looked to Squirrel for reassurance; Squirrel raised an eyebrow at them both.

"No, no," Gibbs corrected Pintel, "Dolphins followin' a ship is always a sign of good luck! See, they only swim around ships that have a sure course and a worthwhile headin'."

"They bring wind is what they do," Pintel muttered, rapping his knuckles against the railing. "Wind and storms."

"Storms," Ragetti echoed, though less sure than his friend. He glanced at Squirrel again.

"Don't be ridiculous," Squirrel clucked her tongue. "They don't _bring_ storms; they just take notice of them." Gibbs looked at Pintel, as though saying, _See? Told you I was right_. "And," Squirrel added, "They're just playing, Gibbs. They're not bringing good fortune. They're just enjoying themselves."

Tia laughed as the dolphins leapt again, then looked over her shoulder. "While dey mey be jus' pleeyin', Miss Greeh," she purred, still grinning, "Dey're a sign of 'ope t' many. Don't be so quick to quash 'ope wit' common sense." Squirrel carefully composed her face, and shrugged one shoulder in a half-agreement. Tia looked back down to the dolphins, smiling distantly. "Dey escort deh souls of deh dead to dere final restin' pleece, and dere wisdom is said t' be greater dan any scholar on lan'." A dolphin leapt out of the waves, sleek and silver.

"Said to be," Squirrel repeated, unable to keep a hint of condescension from her tone.

"'s strange," Ragetti said, half to himself as he leaned over the railing and watched the dolphins. "They're good luck when they're really 'ere, but when you 'ave a dream about 'em, they're bad."

Squirrel tried her best to hide how startled she was. The dreams she'd had - her childhood dream and the other one recently - had both featured dolphins. "Bad?" She asked, smiling nervously. "What do you mean?"

Gibbs answered for Ragetti, cutting off the pirate's reply. "Dreamin' of a dolphin is a sign you're to lose your lady-love," he said authoritatively.

Squirrel pulled a face. "Well, I sincerely doubt that's what it means, Gibbs."

"Why?" Tia lifted her face to look curiously - knowingly - at Squirrel. "You dream of dolphins, Miss Greeh?"

"Yes." Squirrel ignored the flush that came to Ragetti's face, the awkward cough Gibbs hid behind a fist, the almost leering look in Pintel's eyes. "Once or twice."

Tia smiled, also tactfully ignoring the men. "P'raps a dolphin in your dream mean… your love for someone is still strong?"

Squirrel remembered the way the dolphin had snarled at her, how it had whispered 'I hate you' yet had no choice to linger; how it followed her; how she could not let it go for fear of drowning, yet she suffered far worse. "I don't think so." Squirrel shrugged, though she was considering it was so. "Love wouldn't be trying to kill me."

"Kill you?" Tia's eyes went dark.

Squirrel glanced at Gibbs, and found him waiting, listening. She trusted his knowledge of sailor's lore over Tia's riddles and speculations any day, so decided to speak plainly for his sake. "The dolphin said she hated me, but would stay with me a while longer. And then, later, in a storm, the dolphin was the only thing stopping me from drowning, but… she wants me to let go. She wanted me to drown."

"She?" Pintel frowned. "'ow you know the dolphin's a she?"

"Because it speaks with my cousin's voice," Squirrel explained, feeling foolish. _All this fuss over a dream_.

"Well," Ragetti offered innocently, "If it was pink, it would definitely be a girl dolphin."

Squirrel blinked at him, not knowing whether he was joking or not. "It was. Bright pink. And it was bigger than those ones." She motioned over the side of the boat, where the dolphins still leapt and splashed in the wake. Tia's smile was gone now - just dark suspicious curiosity remained.

"Oh," Ragetti said. He offered a shy smile, then ducked his head.

"Well," Gibbs offered tentatively, hesitatingly, "Drownin' in your dreams is said to be a sign of good luck. And, if I may be so bold, Miss Grey, I believe I know what your dream means."

"I'm all ears," Squirrel said, trying not to sound disinterested.

"I think… what your dream means is… You're scared now that Jack's dead. And you feel like you've lost him for good. And - while it seems like a bad thing to have lost him - you'll get him back. And it'll turn out alright in the end."

The phrase was chosen innocently enough, but it echoed strangely around Squirrel's skull. The same words that pirate had spoken when he'd walked upside-down on the ocean's surface. _Don't worry, luv_, he'd assured her then. _It'll be alright in the end_. Squirrel had found no comfort then, and did not find any now. She laughed, harsh and brittle. "Gibbs, it's just a dream." She wanted to reassure herself as much as the others. "It doesn't mean anything. I've had the same dream since I was a little girl, back in Tortuga."

"Really?" Tia spoke up, finally. "So, yeh've not 'ad a dream of a dolphin recently?"

_The frothing waves, the heavy falling rain, the Kraken's tentacles, the sea turning into a mirror which a dolphin and its rider plummeted into and shattered. That face, those dark and hopeful eyes of his…_

"Miss Greeh?"

Squirrel roused, and found she could not hear the dolphins' splashing anymore. She glanced over the railing, and saw the pod of silver bodies had vanished, returning to the sea as mysteriously as they'd come. Squirrel did not believe in omens… but their disappearance left her feeling cold.

"Miss Greeh? 'ave you or 'aven't you?"

Squirrel forced a smile. "Why does it matter? It's a just a dream. It doesn't mean anything. It's just my mind telling me stories when I sleep." She shrugged, smiled, laughed it off. "It's nothing."

"I 'ave another interpretation of your dream, Miss Greeh," Tia said, her voice a little harsh. "Deh dolphin wants you to let go so yeh'll drown, _oui_? Which means you are deh one holdin' on to somet'ing you should 'ave let go of a long time ago. A grudge, a hidden feelin', a secret… only you know. Until you are able to let go of dis t'ing, you will continue to suffer, and 'ave deh night-meers you've 'ad since you were a liddle gherl. An' worse ones beside."

Squirrel's temper got the better of her; anger was easier than fear or guilt at any rate. "Perhaps you were right the first time, Tia. Maybe the dolphin _does_ represent love. It certainly explains why I can't sleep at night without being haunted by a talking dolphin." She remembered that Gibbs, Pintel and Ragetti stood with her, and bit back anything more. Her friends still believed her to be in love with the pirate captain they were going to save. Let them think Squirrel was a love-lorn, moonstruck maiden haunted with nightmares of her beloved's death. It mattered not. And Tia? Well, Tia probably had some idea to the contrary.

Just as Squirrel was thinking this, the swamp woman's eyes softened, proving otherwise. "Miss Greeh," she murmured, pityingly, "You shouldn't torture yehself so."

"I try not to," Squirrel said stubbornly. "But I can't control my dreams." She forced another smile. "Good thing they don't mean anything, aye?"

She hadn't expected an answer, but the awkward silence she was enveloped in was surprising. The men politely excused themselves and went back to their duties, perhaps sensing the silent antagonism between the women; Tia remained, smiling a knowing smile at Squirrel. She lifted her hand, holding up a card. Squirrel hadn't been watching close enough to see where Tia had procured it from; no doubt just in the folds of her golden-tatters of a dress. It was the same card Tia had given Squirrel before: the grey cloaked figure with a lantern and a staff. Was the figure a bearded man, or a woman whose hair was moved by the wind to cross her face? It was hard to tell.

"I know you wan' to be strong, Miss Greeh," Tia murmured, motioning with the card to the weights Squirrel wore on her arms. "But sometimes you can't become strong on your own. Yeh need help sometimes."

"I know that," Squirrel shrugged. "That's why I've asked Will to teach me how to swim and how to use a sword." Tia's eyes hardened in a sudden frown. "What?" Squirrel protested, "That's where this conversation was leading, wasn't it? More riddles? More warnings? More coins on their edge?"

Tia sighed, and put away the card. "I 'ad intinded to talk about you and yourself aloone, Miss Greeh. About what truly burdens you. But it seems…" Tia shrugged, smiling wryly, "It seems dat you still don' trus' me enough."

_I don't trust you at all_, Squirrel thought darkly, but kept the thought out of her eyes. She turned to look out over the stern, to the west, where the storm clouds unfurled and rose like waking giants. Light flickered in the far heights of the masses; distant grumblings and mutterings could be heard across the water. The wind was thick and close, warm and oppressive. The watch bell clanged suddenly, loud and clear, marking the first dog watch. The iron bell's ringing jolted Squirrel from her reverie. She looked back to Tia. "I have to go below now."

Tia nodded, her expression inscrutable. "Yes. Per'aps it would be bes' if you did. Do what you must, Miss Greeh." She paused, thoughtful, then added, "Den get some sleep. An' dream a dream, if you can."

"If I can?"

Tia moved away from Squirrel, walking towards the _Diana_'s figurehead with stormy eyes. Her bare feet gently slapped the deck and her dress whispered around her ankles. Squirrel spared a glance for the dark horizon, then turned and headed below.

But she didn't sleep. She couldn't.

She walked past her bunk. She walked deeper, past the bunks and hammocks of the rest of the crew, past the masts' roots, past cargos and crates… deeper, down to the cavernous bowels of the ship. Had she been able to see herself, she would have hated that haunted look in her eyes, but she would have been unable to do anything about it.

She stood in the darkness, listening to the sound of her breath, breathing in the smell of the fetid seawater that had seeped through the boards and slid underfoot. She could see nothing, save from the light that came from behind her as she descended. As she climbed ever downwards… As she fell…

The Devil did not dwell in Hell. That was not his domain. That would be his punishment. God had cast Lucifer from the heavens for his sin, but was yet to complete his punishment. That fallen angel lived, but not in Hell. He dwelled on Earth. That explained men like Davy Jones, and Cutler Beckett. And every other man, woman and child who ever sinned - all humanity was tainted by that dark angel's fall. He'd fallen, and he'd brought Adam and Eve and the rest of humanity down to join him.

_This is Hell, nor am I out of it_.

Squirrel stared around in the darkness, listening for sounds that did not exist, looking for what she couldn't see. Slowly, she groped her way across the planking until she found the hull, and put her ear to it. She could hear the crash of the waves against the bowsprit, but they were above her. She was under the water line. She was in a cold and dark place.

Squirrel remained there for the longest time, resting her head against the wood, thinking thoughts which were not thoughts. Images and voices taunted her in the darkness; memories replayed themselves back with cold-iron cruelty. The wood under her never warmed to her, and the muted sound of the waves above her never ceased. First dog watch changed to second. Outside, the sun had set, but light had no sway here. It was the sound of the bell which roused her. The sound of bells were said to induce spectres to return to their graves, but Squirrel had no grave to return to. Pushing away from the hull, she walked in slow uncertain lines through the darkness, every now and then hitting crates and barrels, stumbling. She never spoke, never made a sound louder than a breath. Her hands were not outstretched - she stumbled against obstacles when her feet found them, and did not try to avoid them. She couldn't see, and she didn't want to.

Down here, in this nightmarish darkness, was better than the world she found in her dreams.

Her foot connected hollowly with a barrel, and Squirrel finally ceased her purposeless staggerings. She recognised that sound. Reaching through the blackness, Squirrel found the barrel with her hands, and knocked twice. The liquid echoes of the barrel's contents called back to her.

_This is Hell, nor am I out of it_…

She had no coin to pay the ferryman - she'd locked that hope away in Pandora's Box and would never open it ever again. She had none who would vouch for her on the other side; if she did, she was deaf to their voices of welcome or their pleas for her to live. Besides, she'd made her promise. She would follow brave men on this perverse odyssey to pull a dead man from a pit and sing him back to life. But she had made that promise with a broken heart; she'd promised simply because it was what others had expected of her. A promise made with a broken heart is no promise at all. If it wasn't for this promise, she would have left long ago. But where could she have gone? It would have followed her, this knowledge. This burden. This guilt and fear.

She was more a ghost now than ever before. Though she walked on steady feet, unhidden by cloak or darkness and more human in appearance that she had been for years, she was a ghost, and a haunted one at that. Doomed to walk the shores of Cocytus forever.

Accustomed to the darkness now, her fingers found and traced the two lines she had, in her previous role as quartermaster, drawn: one in chalk and one in candle wax. Two lines to denote the level of what the barrel contained. One line was true, and one was not, in order to trap those who sought to siphon off this precious cargo.

Gingerly, Squirrel pried the lid of the barrel and set it aside. She looked into the barrel, as one looks into a magic mirror. The dark, obscured reflection stared back at her, a ghost's image that was barely there in the false and friendless night. Squirrel's eyes were haunted. But she was not looking at what the mirror contained, or what it reflected; she was looking at the mirror itself. Her hands gripped the barrel tightly as she stared, wondering, hoping, dreading, fearing, _wanting_…

True, she felt nothing. But though she felt nothing, she still knew. Every joke and smile and pleasant word she made was another layer of plaster on a flimsy façade of 'I'm alright'. Every league taken in the direction of their goal was another ragged edge rubbing at the battered edges of her broken heart. Every day that went by with a thought of the pirate they sought twisted and beat at her dead conscience. Every denial prompted a swell of guilt and hurt. She felt nothing, and it was killing her, piece by piece.

_Scorn those joys you will never possess_…

Slowly, she bent down and pressed a kiss on that mirror, which rippled and danced under her lips. With one touch, it was over. Her eyelids fluttered, then closed; she lifted her head briefly, licked her lips, then knelt and kissed the mirror once more. The first kiss had been innocent, curious… this one was greedy, demanding, pitiless. Slowly, she breathed, in more than out, and both lines on the side of the barrel gradually proved liars.

_This is Hell, nor am I out of it_…

It wouldn't make her immortal. It wouldn't end her pain. It wouldn't kill her. But this poisonous liquid would do all three, eventually, but in quarter-portions, and never permanently. One day, Squirrel would come to regret the kiss she bestowed on this mirror. One day, she would look back on this night and weep at what she did; weep at what she set in motion. But not tonight. Tonight… she was in Hell.

And the waters of the Styx never tasted so sweet.

* * *

When Squirrel woke, the first thing she noticed was the darkness. Disoriented, she tried to sit up - where was she? The ship rolled, and Squirrel with it. Memories slowly returned to her, piece by piece through a strange fuzzy haze and headache. She was in the hold. Dizziness washed over her, and she fought to keep her eyes open. Had she been able to see anything, her vision would have been both blurred and spinning. As it was, Squirrel could barely keep her balance. 

The longer parts of her hair were matted and sticky, and clung to her face like tentacles; her clothes stank of fetid seawater. With a disgusted noise, Squirrel tried to brush herself off. But the smell lingered on her, trapped in her clothes, and her hair remained a sticky mess. She hauled herself to her feet, fighting a headache, dizziness and lack of balance. She scowled in the darkness. She still remembered; she'd not forgotten yet. She just cared less. _That's a start, I suppose_. With her right hand pressed to her temple to lessen the giddiness, Squirrel staggered out of the hold, climbing the stairs to the deck.

Rain washed down on her, a cold shock to her senses. The warm, confusing haze in Squirrel's mind dissipated somewhat, but she still had a hard time remaining on her own two feet. She looked around - it was nearly as dark up here as it had been below. Cool rain from an equatorial storm washed the _Diana_'s decks and rigging; the sea rolled and churned with the muted fury of the thunderstorm. The rain cascaded down, soaking Squirrel to the skin, washing the smell from her clothes and the stickiness from her hair. She combed her fingers through her hair and looked around. The crew scrambled around, hauling on the ropes, shouting to each other over the hiss and crash of the waves and the growl of thunder. Squirrel grimaced up at the sails - they were sailing under full canvas, taking advantage of the wind of the storm. This storm was just the vanguard of the thunderheads. The real storms would not reach the _Diana_ for a while yet.

Cotton - his clothes plastered to his skin from the rain and the sea - rushed past, and Squirrel reached out to grab his arm. "What watch is this?" She asked, calling over the noise and blinking rain out of her eyes.

Cotton's parrot was hunched on his owner's shoulder; it did not like storms. "Darkest light before the dawn!" It brawked, sounding surly. Squirrel nodded, understanding. _Near the end of middle watch_. She'd been below for over half a day. Somehow, surprise did not reach Squirrel's senses; vagueness was all she could feel. Cotton saluted, then hurried on to the next rope, hauling on it, checking its tautness; there was no time to be spent dawdling here.

Squirrel staggered as the ship rolled again, and she discovered that the bandage wrapping her left hand was missing. She could not remember removing it, yet it was gone, along with many of the scabs which plated her palm and fingers. She wiped the rain from her eyes and examined her hand by the yellow light of a lantern. The skin was pink and fresh. It looked to be healed at last. Squirrel wiped her hair from her face - the tacky stickiness of it now replaced with rain's wetness - and cast her eyes about.

It could not have been chance that, as she stood there glancing about, one of the lines slipped free. Squirrel leapt forward, reaching for it, catching it before it swept past her. Squirrel braced her feet and grit her teeth, and started dragging the rope downwards, hauling arm over arm, dragging the rope back from where it had slipped free. Squirrel's muscles screamed, and the rope tore at her hands, but she did not give way. But the rope did. Surprise finally crossed the uncertain, hazy threshold of Squirrel's mind - for the first time ever, she was hauling on a rope and not being dragged away. She was holding her own. She was hauling on the rope and she was _doing it by herself_.

Will came out of the rain and stood by her side. He also grabbed hold of the rope and heaved with her. Together, they managed to return the rope to its rightful place and tie it more securely. Squirrel staggered back and leant against the mast, dully shocked by what she'd discovered she could accomplish.

"Your hand!" Will shouted, turning away from the rope.

Squirrel held it up for examination, both his and hers. "It's alright," she called over the roar of the storm, though Will was barely a foot from her. "It's fine."

Will took hold of Squirrel's hand, and brushed the rain from his eyes. "It's bleeding. You should go below."

Squirrel shook her head stubbornly, and was reminded of her dizziness. "No, I'm fine. I can do this." She looked down; the blood from her palm was washing away in the rain, fading into nothing. Will looked at Squirrel, uncertainly. Squirrel grinned back, adrenaline thrilling through her veins. She lifted her hand out of Will's grip, and wiped her palm on the leg of her pants. Another scab peeled off, stinging her for a moment, but Squirrel paid no heed.

"Grey!" Barbossa's voice barked over the rumble of the storm and the boiling of the waves. "Fore-sheet, port-side!"

Squirrel grinned to Will, then hurried to obey, leaping across the deck, avoiding the waves and the other crewmen. She scrambled up the rain-soaked ratlines, eyes fastened on the rope Barbossa had picked out. Sure enough, it was swinging slack; it had jammed in the tackle. With careful but quick movements, Squirrel clambered through the rigging until she reached the block and tackle. With rain-soaked hands, she tugged and yanked at the thick hempen fibres until she'd loosened the tangle that had formed. The fore-sheet ropes snapped and whipped through, tightening as they should have. Grabbing hold of one of the fore-sheet ropes, Squirrel swung herself over and down onto the deck. As she hit the deck running, she laughed, first to herself, then a little louder.

She was strong enough to haul on ropes. By herself.

Squirrel looked up to the helm, where Barbossa wrestled with the wheel. He had his face lifted to the sky, teeth bared in a fierce grin, his eyes shining. Squirrel couldn't tell at this distance, but Barbossa might have even been laughing. Squirrel felt the same way. The adrenaline had chased away the dizziness and disorientation she'd felt only moments before; exhilaration was all that remained. Soaked to the skin, she lifted her face and her hands to the rain, and crowed up at the thunder and the lightning.

Sunny days were all well and good, but they could be tedious. It was the storms that made you feel like you were really alive.

**

* * *

A/N**: The 'Faust' section was the first bit written of the whole fic, as I said. The quotes come from Marlowe's 'The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus'. Cookies for people who can find all the classical references… and kudos to Martian Aries once more. 


	15. Port

**Disclaimer**: Ye don't know how lucky ye are to be disclaimer-ed like this.

**A/N**: Yay! Africa!

* * *

Like all tropical storms, this one burned itself out quickly. Soon, the only rain that fell was the water dripping from the canvas, and the storm moved off, grumbling as it went. The storms in the _Diana_'s wake only grew and intensified, but were too far away to reach the caravel yet; they seemed to be waiting, holding their breath, waiting for the right moment to unleash their fury. As the seas calmed, light slowly began to creep over the eastern horizon; soft blues, at first, followed by pale gold and peach, and then the bright yellow hues of the sun's rays. 

Squirrel stood at the railing, squeezing water out of her hair and watching the sky change colour. She was soon joined by another, whose heavy boots and sure-swaggering tread marked him. "Good morning, Hector."

Barbossa grinned at Squirrel, and came to stand at her right. "And good mornin' t' ye, angel." He looked out across the water, hardening his eyes against the glare of the sun. "Ah, good. We'll be in port by the end of the day."

Squirrel shaded her eyes with her hand and looked out over the water. There, obscuring the sun on the horizon, Squirrel could just make out the vague shape and shadow of land in the distance. "Any port in particular we're looking for?"

"Yees," Tia said, appearing at Barbossa's side so suddenly that she made Squirrel jump. The swamp woman was dry, untouched by the storm. She must have remained below. "But," she continued, "We won' knoo 'til we get dere if is deh port we need."

"Why?" Squirrel's brow furrowed. "What are we looking for?"

"We need a crew." Barbossa said, staring out over the sea.

Squirrel looked to him. "What? What do we need a crew for? You've got us." She tried to smile; Barbossa gave her a patient smile in return.

"When we're goin' around Cape Horn," Barbossa said calmly, "We're going to need more'n a ten-man crew. We'll need at least twelve more men; eighteen would be ideal."

Squirrel frowned. "But this is _our_ quest."

"Quest?" Tia looked amused.

Squirrel ignored her. "Captain," she shook her head at Barbossa, "This is _our_ journey. _Our_ decision. As a ten-man crew, we all have a common purpose and goal." _Even if it is for differing reasons_. "We don't need others coming in. They wouldn't understand. They would get in the way. They wouldn't… It isn't… it isn't right."

Tia moved behind Barbossa and put a hand on Squirrel's arm, calming her. "We need more dan ten men to 'elp us t'rough deese waters," she said softly.

"And, angel," Barbossa smiled, anticipating and interrupting Squirrel's next comment, "I've been brought back as a captain who knows the waters, so I know that we'll need more crewmen to make it to Singapore in one piece." He tilted his head at Squirrel. "Ye've never been around the Cape before, have ye." When Squirrel shook her head, Barbossa nodded, as though it were to be expected. He glanced over his shoulder, to the stern. The thunderheads grumbled and grew, a dark heavy curtain dawn's light could not pierce. "The storms are somethin' fierce this time of year," Barbossa's voice was an undertone.

Tia looked up at Barbossa, smiling inkily. "A time when oonly breeve men or fools will teeke to deh sea."

"Great," Squirrel looked darkly out towards the sun. "So we're to have a ship full of fools, then. Does that count include us as well?"

Barbossa chuckled; Tia's eyes sparkled with merriment. The swamp woman turned to Barbossa. "Deh men we need will come when we see dat we're goin' roun' deh Kehpe," she said, most likely for Squirrel's benefit. "If no-one joins us 'ere, den we seel t' deh nex' port."

"And so on, and so forth."

Tia looked back at Squirrel. "'ave a liddle peetience, Miss Greeh. We will get to Jack Sparrah in time." She smiled, not seeing Squirrel's true thoughts on the matter, then moved off, her dress swishing, singing to herself in a strange tongue. Barbossa watched Tia go, then looked back out over the water, a slight raise to his eyebrows and a twist to his lips.

"You're not looking forward to that?" Squirrel noted, wryly.

Barbossa's mouth quirked at the corners. "Am I lookin' forward to settin' foot on th' _Pearl_ again? Aye. Very much so. But havin' to forfeit 'er to someone who clearly doesn't deserve 'er? No. No, I'm not."

"Well, _you_ could be the captain."

Barbossa pulled a face of mock-horror. "Angel, are you suggestin' mutiny?"

This time it was Squirrel's lips that quirked. "It'd only be mutiny if you weren't the captain now."

Barbossa sighed wearily, but still smiled. "True." He chuckled, then folded his arms on the railing and stared out over the water. "But that's not a good attitude t' be havin'. And ye know very well that I'm not the captain that ye want."

"Maybe you are," Squirrel said faintly. "You're damn-sight better than… than he ever was. You gave a lesson in fighting with a sword; you're giving the chance to be a part of this crew; you're paying me… You're giving me hope. You make me feel like I'm worth something." She smiled faintly, sadly, over at Barbossa. Barbossa looked evenly, patiently, back at her. Squirrel looked away, smiling still, but was unable to continue. She cleared her throat, and shrugged, changing the topic. "I heard a rumour you used to sail under Morgan."

Barbossa understood. "That was no rumour, angel." But while Barbossa understood Squirrel's desire to change the topic, he wasn't about to let it go. He was silent a moment, then asked, "Ye don't feel your life is worth somethin'?" He half-rose, leaning on one elbow to look Squirrel in the eye. "Look, angel, I understand ye've been through a lot in your life so far. Bad things happen to good people. But that doesn't mean you should lose faith in all ye know, or in who ye are."

"This is what I mean about giving me hope," Squirrel murmured, the sunlight warm on her face. "You actually care about me, and how I feel."

Barbossa smiled, wanting to reassure. "Angel, while I'm flattered ye think me a better captain, I would question why ye'd come on this voyage if Jack Sparrow makes ye feel so bad about yerself."

"It's…" Squirrel sighed. "It's complicated."

Barbossa chuckled faintly, a look of sympathetic pity in his eyes. "It often is with him." He looked out over the water again, and did not see Squirrel bite her lip, or the expression in her eyes. Barbossa sighed, then admitted, "I'm not so certain Sparrow and I will be on the best of terms when we meet."

"I imagine so," Squirrel murmured. "Especially since you're supposed to be dead, and he, Jonah-like, will be a bit of a mess."

"Jonah-like?" Barbossa tilted his head.

Squirrel smirked. "He was eaten by the Kraken, yet we're going to fetch him back. This means he has to be intact, or at least in one piece, correct?" Barbossa nodded, curious amusement in his ice-blue eyes. Squirrel grinned, then added, "So which end of the Kraken is Jack coming out of?"

Barbossa snickered at first, then chuckled his deep throaty growl of a laugh; his laughter was more than enough to prompt Squirrel to join in.

"Good question," Barbossa said at last, still grinning. "But we'll 'ave t' wait and see."

Squirrel nodded, her laughter fading away. "But first, we've got to get around the Cape."

Barbossa patted Squirrel's shoulder. "Don't fret, angel. If it makes ye feel any better, we'll tell the crew we're bound for Calcutta, and we'll leave the crew behind once we're past Cape Horn. That way, we can finish our 'quest' with just the ten men we began with." He smiled.

Squirrel nodded. "I'd appreciate that. Thankyou."

Barbossa looked out over the water once more, at the distant shape of land. The two of them stood in sociable silence for a moment, watching the sun rise ever higher, watching the sparkle of the light golden on the wide marble ocean.

"Good to see your hand's better."

"I know. I'm glad of it as well." She smiled. "Thankyou for the order."

Barbossa just smiled. "I suppose ye'll be back to your old duties then?"

Squirrel nodded. "I suppose so." There was another long silence, then Squirrel stirred. "I think," she murmured, "I have an idea of what I want to spend my wages on."

"Aye?" Barbossa still stared out over the water. "And what might that be, angel?"

"Just a couple of things." Squirrel smiled to herself.

* * *

The first was information. 

When the _Diana_ docked that evening, Squirrel threaded her way between the taverns and ale-houses, eavesdropping until she found sailors who spoke English rather than Afrikaans or Portuguese or some other unknown language. When she'd found such men, she'd insinuate herself into their company and earn their friendship and trust, usually with a bottle of rum or two. When Squirrel was sure she was recognised as a benefactress and a buyer-of-drinks rather than a whore, she'd ask her questions. And the men, drunk and wanting to impress, would talk.

Information - especially from the mouths of drunken sailors - is hardly reliable, and never cheap. Squirrel heard hundreds of differing accounts of the same events. Some men she was certain had never even been to the Caribbean for the past eight months, but they still spoke as if they knew everything. Some she knew had to have been there, but had no desire to talk. It had only been two weeks, and honest accounts would be rare enough in Africa. Squirrel was patient, though - if she heard enough stories, eventually she'd be able to distil the truth from the dross of lies.

Norrington had a fleet of a hundred ships under his command. No, it was only ten ships, but with a hundred men each ship. Don't be daft, you can't have a hundred men each ship. It was an armada, nevertheless. Lots of ships; lots of men. Norrington - under Beckett's orders - was attacking every ship that ploughed the Spanish Main, whether pirates, merchants or even tiny, helpless fishing vessels. No ship could sail the ocean unless it was one of Beckett's own. Trade was nearly non-existent; all that existed put money straight into Beckett's pocket. With this money, he bought more ships, hired more men, bought more pardons for pirates. No, he didn't pardon pirates - he just hired them. Don't be stupid; why would he hire pirates? He just enticed them in close, and forced them to join him with promises and lies. The Spanish and the French were joining forces to put a stop to Beckett's tyranny. They wouldn't stand a chance, not against the Kraken. Ah, but the Spanish had a dragon! A gift from the Chinese emperor, or Mongolian overlord, or Indian maharaja, or something, years ago. There would be a mighty battle between the two great beasts, and whichever one won, the victorious country would control the sea. Beckett had a dragon as well. Posh, rot, lies and fantasies. Dragons indeed. Beckett had permission from the King himself to be doing what he did. The King himself was under Beckett's command. The King didn't know about Beckett yet, and there were only whispers of these happenings in England so far. Governor Swann's influence got Beckett the ships and supplies he needed. Governor Swann was a prisoner. Governor Swann had sold his soul to the Devil. Governor Swann was dead, defiant to Beckett to the very end. There would be war by the end of this: a war for the ocean; a war for the world.

Squirrel waded patiently through the stories and inflated rumours, listening to everything but accepting little of it.

An old salt in the corner of the tavern gave brief succinct answers, too bitter and not quite drunk enough to exaggerate, even for a woman. Yes, Governor Swann was a prisoner, because he was more useful to Beckett alive. Yes, Beckett was using pirates in Norrington's armada. But not because the pirates were willing. They were captured and press-ganged into service, often starved and beaten until they were too cowed to even consider fighting back. And Norrington was no Admiral - he was a mere captain. No way in hell did that man deserve a higher rank.

Squirrel silently agreed at that, but didn't know how true it was.

The night was half over before Squirrel abandoned her hunt. Though she was not tired, she was weary of the men and women of the port. She felt uneasy walking on street-level without her hood to hide behind, but she kept her head high and a hand on her dagger at all times, keeping her unease well-hidden. Men had called to her, making lewd suggestions or asking if she was free for the evening; women had snarled at her, warned her to keep out of their way and their territory. Whores and drunkards jostled her; merchants and beggars demanded attention and coin. Drink and flesh and food and greed. The air was thrumming with desperation. Everywhere people shouted and called; _money, money, money!_

_Ports_, Squirrel thought, a sneer almost curling her lip. _They're all the same_.

Her feet carried her away from the bustling night-life, further away from the docks where it was darker and quieter. With a glance around to make sure she was not being followed, she climbed a pile of crates to the top of one of the houses, and walked along the roofs of shop-houses and homes. Squirrel slowly felt herself relaxing; she felt safer here. This was what she was used to. She found a convenient spot among the eaves and sat down. From a bag she had slung over her shoulder, she brought out the bottle of ink, the quill pen, and a handful of papers she'd been given. She quickly jotted down all the information she'd gathered, all the stories and rumours about Beckett, Norrington, Governor Swann, and the pirate armada. While she knew she had an excellent memory, she did not want to take any chances. Not tonight. Not with what she was planning. In a small precise hand, she wrote down everything, no matter how farfetched or ridiculous the stories seemed.

An hour later, she was done. She returned her belongings to the bag and rose to her feet. She checked the pouch of wages at her belt, and smiled. Though she'd spent a significant portion of her money on buying knowledge, she still had plenty left over.

More than enough for the second thing she'd come for.

With sure steps, Squirrel headed back along the rooftops, heading back towards the busiest, rowdiest parts of town. There was bound to be someone there who would not wonder at her presence, and sell to her without question. If you found the right place, anyone could buy anything.

Squirrel moved with a sure purpose, but was in no great hurry. She was unlikely to be noticed up here - who looks up? Far better to look left and right, straight ahead or over your shoulder.

One man below Squirrel should not have looked so frequently over his shoulder. Every time he did so, the men who followed him got a little closer. He tried to lose the men who hunted him, but his long dark coat was too distinguishable, and there were no crowds out here to lose himself in. Squirrel paused in her walk, leaning against a wall and looking down. She saw the man panic, and duck into an alleyway. Trapped, he could only face his pursuers with wide eyes and palms open in a plea for mercy. The trapped man gibbered and shouted, one phrase over and over. Squirrel did not need to speak the language to know what he said; she'd seen the scenario played out in Tortuga a thousand times. It was something about not having what the pursuers wanted. Money, most likely. The men who closed in on the trapped man did not speak English either, but the snarls on their faces and the weapons in their hands spoke a universal language. The trapped man pleaded, begged, shrieked; the hunters snarled and spoke in deep guttural tongues.

Squirrel watched, knowing the outcome of this encounter. "You're a dead man," she murmured.

The trapped man lashed out with his fist and knocked one of his attackers to the ground, then tried to run. But a second man lashed out, slamming his fist backwards, between the trapped man's shoulder blades. His fist contained a long sharp dagger. The trapped man gurgled and cried out; the hunters swarmed around and finished what they'd started.

Squirrel closed her eyes, and heard the trapped man give one last shriek. When she opened her eyes again, all that remained was a body lying face-down in the street. Slowly, every sense alert, Squirrel slowly climbed down from the rooftops, and walked into the alley.

"Hello?" She murmured, making for the fallen man's body. "Sir? Are you…?" She reached out, and gently shook the man. He did not respond. He was dead. Squirrel rocked back on her heels, sickened by what she'd seen. "God, give him rest," she whispered, turning her eyes skyward. "Grant him that one small mercy." But she did not turn and leave just yet.

The man's coat was long and sturdy, made from a durable dark blue material. It was well-made, none too heavy, and looked in good condition. Well, in good condition aside from the bloody stab-wound in the back. And it looked to be her size, too. Squirrel bit her lip, considering, weighing her options, then knelt down and gingerly turned the corpse over.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, moving the man's arms while they were still warm and pliable. "But you don't need this anymore." Gingerly, she removed his arms from the sleeves. The man's panicked eyes stared at her; with some measure of remorse, Squirrel pressed his eyelids closed.

"If I'd interrupted," she murmured, in the way of an apology, "There would have been two corpses here tonight."

_You don't know that_, a faint voice scolded. _You could have saved him_.

"It's a bit late now. I can't change what's been done."

_But you could have done something! You should have!_

Squirrel rolled the body over, and stood up, taking the coat with her. She held it up, and examined it. She'd have to adjust the length of the hem and the sleeves somewhat, but she'd always been handy with a needle and thread. The blood might not wash completely out, but she could patch up the hole. The length of her hair would certainly cover both the bloodstain and the slit in the fabric.

And it was a very fine coat.

Squirrel looked down at the body. "I'm sorry," she repeated, slinging the coat over one arm. And then she turned and headed back into the night, walking the cobblestone road with soft-soled feet but a heavy tread.


	16. Blackbird, Black Sails

**Disclaimer**: Did no-one come to save me because they missed me?

**A/N**: This chapter contains music. I had originally intended for a lot of songs in this fic, but somehow POTC3: The Musical didn't seem to make much sense. But I'm not getting rid of the ones here, because I love the first one so much, and because the second is appropriate. Warning: angst and self-pity; also literary allusions both oblique and obvious. And a possible spoiler.

* * *

Barely half an hour later, Squirrel leant against the wall, lying back in a relaxed manner high above street level, looking out over the town and the bay, watching everything but heeding none of it. She adjusted her seat a little more, the new coat heavy around her shoulders. She'd washed the blood out as best she could, but there was still a shadow of it, stained into the cloth. The coat's weight comforted her. She lifted the bottle to her lips again and swigged at the bittersweet liquid, wincing as she swallowed. It was stronger than what she was used to, but then, she was used to it being mostly water. She'd paid good money to make sure that she had only the strongest, purest stuff. Though these bottles were smaller than the usual, she'd paid good money. All she'd achieved so far was a deep well of melancholy, but it was only a matter of time before she achieved what she wanted. It had to be. 

"_If I was a blackbird_," she sang, her voice warbling over the silent night air, "_Could whistle and sing, I would follow the vessel my true love sails in_." She swigged at the bottle again, wincing once more as the drink seared her throat on the way down. This bottle was nearly empty. It was a good thing she had a couple spare. Her hand wandered uncertainly to her left, and found them beside her, where she'd left them. She smiled lopsidedly, then finished the bottle she held.

It was that time of night when everyone - regardless of current financial status, state of inebriation, or success with affordable partners - was quiet. Not asleep mind you, for some people could not - or would not - sleep. But it was like the port was holding its breath, one final gasp before the dawn brought life back to the port. And then the night would come, and it would start all over again. It was the perfect time to sit and feel sorry for oneself.

"_And in the top rigging_," Squirrel uncorked the second bottle with shaky hands, "_I would there build my nest, and flutter my wings o'er his proud golden chest_." She laughed, coarse and bitter. Follow the ship? He sailed with Death. And there was no following _that_ ship. But they were certainly trying to chase him down. The _Black Pearl_ had been the fastest ship in the Caribbean. Would the _Diana_ be able to catch up? The thought was sobering - Squirrel quickly smothered it with a deep draught from the bottle. After swallowing, Squirrel laughed again, and saluted the dark horizon and the stars with the new bottle. _We'll burn that bridge when we come to it_.

"_I am a young maiden_," Squirrel lilted, her voice wavering from the liquid she had been drinking, "_My story is sad. For once, I was carefree, in love with a lad_…"

"_He courted me sweetly_," A woman's voice joined in, from somewhere below, "_By night and by day_…"

Squirrel frowned, and looked down over the edge of her perch atop the wall. A group of nine women were resting after a night's work. Some of them held bottles like Squirrel; others tore into bread, sharing them amongst themselves. One of them was looking up to where Squirrel lounged, and it was she who was singing. She had a pretty good voice. The other women were listening, glad to be distracted, glad to have something to lift their spirits or acknowledge their collective despondency.

Squirrel smirked, saluting the women with the bottle; she was one of them tonight. Another woman broken by circumstance. "_But then, oh, he left me, and sailed far away_."

"_If I were a blackbird_," the woman and Squirrel sang together, "_Could whistle and sing, I would follow the vessel my true love sails in_…" Some of the other women joined in with the song, but none had a finer voice as the first woman. Squirrel's voice faltered, and she stared at the singer, as though just realising who the women below were. She frowned at the first singer, the one singing the verses and leading the others to sing the chorus.

The woman did not seem to notice Squirrel's scrutiny, but continued to sing. "_He offered to take me to Donnybrook Fair, to buy me white ribbons_…"

Squirrel swigged at her bottle, and stared out at the stars. She floated in a haze for a moment, almost drifting off to sleep. She smiled, welcoming it, but then the pure, sure voice of the woman below woke her.

"…_but then in the morning, he sailed with the tide. Oh, if I were a blackbird_…"

Squirrel's lips quirked downwards, and her brow pinched. _I don't have wings_, she thought, sleepily. _I'm just a squirrel. Squirrels can't fly. But birds can fly, and they always leave you behind. They just fly off and leave you behind_. She tried to push the thought away with another swig from the bottle, but it still nagged at her through the haze. _If I were a blackbird, I wouldn't waste my time flying out to sea. I'd be killed in a storm, or something. Stupid blackbird. I'm glad I don't have wings_.

_Even if I am an angel_. She giggled.

"… _though I missed his caresses, his kiss on my cheek_…"

Squirrel's hand went to her cheek before she could stop herself. _The candlelight in the cabin flickered around her, the wood of the door was strong behind her back_… She hiccuped, and told herself it wasn't a sob she was choking back. A thought pierced the haze: _what a stupid song to be singing_. Squirrel frowned, angry at herself. She wanted to forget, didn't she? And her she was, singing like some lovesick maiden, the same kind of silly girl from the song. Stupid. She took a deep draught at the bottle, trying to block it all out, but the women below kept singing.

"… _One secret love letter to my true love I'd send_…"

Squirrel swigged from the bottle again, angry now, but to her surprise, the bottle was empty. Funny, she didn't remember… She swore faintly, then reached for the third - and last - bottle she'd bought. Unsteadily, she rose to her feet. She looked down to the street, where the women were swaying, singing with their eyes closed. Some of them were even crying.

"… _and tell of my sorrow, my grief and my pain_…"

_Stupid_, Squirrel thought disdainfully, turning away. _Stupid girls_. She clambered down off the wall, but down the opposite side to where the women were. Her night was ruined by those stupid whores and their stupid song. Squirrel snorted. Whores. Whores, singing about love lost. And a stupid song too. Ruined a perfectly good evening, it did. And it had started off so well. Cradling her third bottle like a child, Squirrel made her way down to the docks, her eyes stony.

"Tragic," she muttered, "So bloody tragic."

Over the night air, the final strains of the song came to Squirrel's ears. "… _while there's breath in my body_," the clear voice of the singer called, "_He's the one I love still_." The words pierced the air like an arrow, seeking Squirrel directly.

_Come hell or high water_, Squirrel remembered saying once. She scowled to herself. She must have been out of her mind to have made such a promise. Out of her bloody mind.

She reached the docks at last. What noise there was from the town faded into nothingness - just crickets, the sea, and the ships that groaned and murmured as they rested. Squirrel's feet faltered, and she looked up and around, disoriented. Where was the ship? Through the warmth of the haze, Squirrel began to feel afraid. They'd sailed without her! They'd abandoned her! She threw her eyes all around the docks, looking for the ship she'd arrived on, becoming more and more panicked.

_Calm down_, she told herself, trying to be pragmatic. _Perhaps you just came to the wrong dock in the dark. It's here, it has to be_. She retraced her steps, walking along the wooden piers, searching each ship carefully. But she did not see a figurehead she recognised; the sails were cut strangely; shadows and darkness made all the rest indistinguishable.

Squirrel's mouth was dry, and her breath was quick; she wrestled with fear, and was soon to lose to it. The only sound enveloping her was the wash of the waves and the creak of the moored ships. They seemed to be laughing at her. _Abandoned again? What a surprise that is. Useless girl_.

"No!" She slurred, trying to fight fear with anger. "I'm not!" She hugged the bottle tighter to her chest, and went back the way she'd come. Her head was craned up, looking for a cut of sails which did not look foreign, for a hull which she could recognise, for the ship she knew. But it wasn't anywhere to be found. The soft blissful haze Squirrel had been drifting in vanished; cold reality closed around her, brought on by fear. Her feet thudded out a quick, heavy tattoo on the wooden piers, no longer silent and light. Confused and unbalanced, she staggered down a random pier, and sat heavily down on a crate. Three ships loomed around her, bobbing and swaying in the waves. Squirrel coughed, and her eyes burned, but she could find no tears to cry. It was as though she were completely dry of them. The bottle rolled out of her arms, thudding to rest in a coil of rope beside her. She didn't care about it. She was lost. Lost, alone, and abandoned in the dark.

And there was no song to comfort her this time. No song, and no one.

Something whispered, fluttering out of the darkness, coming to rest on a crate opposite her. "Sheets to the wind?" It brawked in a croaky voice. Squirrel looked up; recognition of the bird came slowly, and not just because of the darkness.

"I know you," she said, her voice hoarse. She hiccuped again.

The parrot tilted its head at her, almost critically. "Er-lai in the morn-nin'," it sang, almost patronisingly, then winged up into the air again. Squirrel watched the bird fly away, watched it vanish back into the darkness. _Birds fly away. Leave you behind_. She hugged herself a little tighter, wrapping the dead man's coat more securely around her. She shuddered once more, her hair falling down into her face.

"Squirrel? That you?"

Squirrel looked up, and saw Ragetti standing at the end of the pier, wide-eyed; Pintel stood beside his friend, a lantern in his hand. Squirrel's heart leapt at the familiar sight of the two pirates, honestly glad to see them both, though it took a moment for the fact to register through her wretched state.

"You alright?" Pintel squinted down the pier towards her, lantern held high. Ragetti ducked his head, looking up at Squirrel shyly, though not without concern.

Squirrel brushed her hair back from her face and tried to look 'alright'. "I can't find the ship," she said, her voice strained.

Pintel frowned, and gestured. "It's right behind yeh." Ragetti nodded, seconding his friend.

Squirrel blinked at the two pirates, disbelieving. Slowly, she turned around, and peered up at the hull of the ship behind her. She saw the name of the ship carved extravagantly above her head: 'DIANA'. She should have been able to see that, even in the dark. If she'd been looking for it, she would have seen it. Squirrel laughed unevenly, raggedly, at her own stupidity.

Pintel frowned, concerned now. "You alright?" He asked again.

Squirrel turned back to face them. "I was looking for a ship with black sails." She tried to laugh but she couldn't. The truth of the fact was too cold, too obvious. The two pirates exchanged glances - knowing glances, as though they knew more than she did. "I'm just tired," Squirrel reassured them, smiling lopsidedly. "S'been a long day."

"Maybe you should get some rest," Pintel suggested; Ragetti nodded, still mirroring all his friend did.

But Squirrel shook her head. "I can't. I have…" She paused, frowning in thought, then offered the excuse of, "Morning watch." It was a feeble lie, but it worked.

"We'll take it for you," Ragetti shrugged, offering a small smile.

Pintel looked to his friend, as though impressed that such a thing had been suggested, then back to Squirrel. "Yeah! We'll take morning watch for you," he said, as though it were his own idea, "And you rest up now. Fair?"

Squirrel rose unsteadily to her feet, surreptitiously picking up the fallen bottle as she did so. "Fair." She smiled at the two men, hiding the bottle up the sleeve of her new coat. "Thankyou, boys. Thankyou." She turned and walked up the gangplank.

"Good night," Ragetti called out faintly.

"Sweet dreams," Pintel added, a little louder. Squirrel smiled over her shoulder at the both of them; the latter grinned back at her, but the former blushed and ducked his head.

The bottle was cold and heavy in Squirrel's arms. She smiled to herself as she climbed the gangplank. It wouldn't be the dreams that were sweet - she had no intention of dreaming. Her course was certain, but she almost rolled with the _Diana_ as the ship bobbed in the waves. She was so unsteady on her feet. Good thing she didn't intend to stay on her feet for much longer tonight. Though the effect of the first and second bottles had largely worn off due to a stupid song and a foolish fear, there was no doubt the third would see her on her way to sweet oblivion. Squirrel smiled to herself, laughing under her breath.

And then she looked up, and her laughter died.

Almost shrouded in shadows was a familiar figure. Will was standing alone on the deck, head titled at a curious angle - as though listening to something no-one else could hear - his sword readied in one hand and held a distance away from his body. Squirrel froze. But Will did not see her. He stepped, his sword held out at arm's length; he moved fluidly, surely, gracefully. He was a dancer in the starlight, moving with a sturdy kind of grace. He seemed to be aware of nothing but himself and his blade. He stepped and turned and sliced the sword through the air with one hand; there was a rhythm in his steps. His feet were quick and nimble, and his blade's attacks on the air were precise and clean. He moved so surely, so accurately; he was not hindered by obstacles or the layout of the ship's dead. And yet, he had his eyes closed.

The bottle hidden up Squirrel's sleeve no longer seemed so inviting. Squirrel turned away from Will, not wanting him to see her in this condition. She felt ashamed of herself; no doubt Will would feel the same. Quietly as she could, Squirrel turned and made her way below. Her feet now seemed far too clumsy, and her balance uneven. Yet Will did not turn his head, or even open his eyes. He was so focused on his sword, on his practice; he knew nothing else.

Squirrel staggered below, heading for her bunk. She secreted the bottle away, hidden at the bottom of her satchel, then curled up on her bunk. But try as she might, she couldn't sleep. She spent the next few hours tossing and turning, thinking far too often of things which she didn't need to think about. Finally, in the early, early hours of the morning, Squirrel gave up.

She went back down to the hold, to the relief the darkness offered her there.

* * *

A night came and went as the _Diana_ sailed southwards towards the Cape. There was no sign of the new crewmen Tia had promised, despite one port behind left for another. And for that, Squirrel was silently relieved. But she knew it would not be long. 

It had been a pleasant day. Squirrel had laughed and joked with the crew, cooking for them and reading from the books that were brought to her. She'd done the laundry, for herself and for a few others. The notes about the rumours she'd heard she'd given to the crew to puzzle over as they would. She'd sat in the rigging and watched the stars come out - how strange and unfamiliar were the stars south of the Equator! - and played her part in securing the lines and the sheets.

But now she was tired, and she wanted to sleep without being interrupted with nightmares. And there was only one sure way of doing that, even if it meant she'd suffer for it.

The darkness of the hold was close and familiar as Squirrel picked her way through. She knew the path to take; she'd walked it enough previously. Hidden in the very back of the hold, behind piles of crates, she'd made herself a second home. The crew knew nothing of it; the crew knew nothing of what she did down here. And she was glad of the privacy. Glad… because it hid her shame.

She knew that what she was doing was wrong, that it was bad for her, that it was killing her. But she couldn't see any other way.

Squirrel knelt down and spread her hands over the crates, searching for what she was looking for, mumbling to herself. Her nimble fingers found the loose board of one of the crates, and she grinned in the darkness. But it was a desperate grin, the grin of a mourner who no longer wished to mourn. Inside the crate, Squirrel heard several things _clinking_ and _thunking_ together gently each time the _Diana_ passed through another wave. Squirrel grabbed a hold of the smallest one, and pulled it out.

She'd done this before. She'd drink as much as she could, then refill the bottle from one of the many barrels before succumbing to bittersweet stupor. She had her chalk and her candle, and she alone was trusted with counting what existed down here. No-one would be the wiser, save Squirrel herself. She, however, did not feel wise. Like a fool, she returned time and time again to her folly. Each time it took more and more to achieve that she wanted… and still, forgetfulness remained out of her reach.

_Heaven and earth, must I remember?_

She sat back in the darkness, leaning against the hull, and slipped the cork from the bottle. Her mood matched the darkness that surrounded her, and she wearily welcomed the temporary relief that the rum would bring her. She stared at the bottle in her hand, breathing in the bittersweet smell of the liquid.

She knew the story of the Fall, of Adam and Eve. How they'd been tricked by the Devil into eating what had been forbidden. Squirrel now thought that the poison of humanity could not have been a fruit. Fruit came from God's green Earth. It was a gift, a blessing, and it healed and helped rather than destroyed. No, the forbidden fruit was far from a fruit. It was cold, and hard, but fitted most companionably in one's hand. The knowledge it gave was more than enough to lead one to evil. And it had led many to ruin… and to death. The forbidden fruit had surely been a bottle of rum.

Squirrel's sigh blew over the neck of the empty bottle, and she heard - too late - the serpent's hiss.


	17. Hamlet

**Disclaimer**: It is a mark of my captaincy, nothing more.

**A/N**: Anecdotal and character development. Shouldn't be any spoilers here.

* * *

Barbossa came out of his cabin and took a deep breath of sea air. He closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sunlight, and murmured something to himself. The monkey swung down out of the rigging, chattering a simian good morning. Barbossa smiled wryly, scratching his pet under the chin, then pulled from his coat pocket a fresh apple. He bit into the green fruit and chuckled to himself, and then noticed Squirrel watching him. Lifting the apple in salute, he called, "Good mornin'." 

Squirrel nodded to Barbossa, then looked back down at the coat in her hands. She adjusted her grip on the needle, and continued to sew. In the pale light of the overcast morning, the dark stain of blood was still noticeable, especially around the edges of the patch she had sewn over the hole the day before. Squirrel paid no heed to that now - the cuffs of the coat were almost the right length. Just a few more stitches to secure them in place, and the coat would be ready to wear.

Barbossa ambled over, and stood looking over her shoulder. He smiled, amiable and cheerful, though with a raised eyebrow. "Ye look a bit surly this mornin', angel," he half-joked.

Squirrel managed a faint, half-hearted smile. "Long night," she shrugged, "Couldn't sleep." She surreptitiously folded the coat in her lap to hide the bloodstain.

"Ah." Barbossa bit into his apple again. As Squirrel continued to pick and restitch the cuff of her new coat, Barbossa stood and considered her, a strange glint in his eye. Squirrel forced herself to keep calm, to not glance curiously up at him, not to arouse further what seemed to be suspicion in the man's eyes. Finally, Barbossa asked, "Are ye alright? Ye seem a tad… not yourself."

Squirrel sighed, setting aside the needle and thread for a moment. She turned the cuff right-side out, and examined the length of it. "I've got a lot on my mind." She didn't tell him it was largely a throbbing headache.

"I can see that," Barbossa said, without intonation. Then he roused himself with a smile. "Well, when ye're done with your sewin', we need a list of all the things in th' hold. What supplies we need, and such. Is the occasional quartermaster up to such a task?"

Squirrel gave a breath of laughter. "Aye, captain."

"What did I tell ye about callin' me that, Miss Grey?"

"Ahoy, _Diana_!"

Squirrel and Barbossa's heads both turned; the man in black went to the railing, but Squirrel remained where she was. The first of the new crew were arriving, it seemed. Squirrel started securing the cuff with angry stabs of the needle, but kept one eye on Barbossa and both ears open.

"Aye!" Barbossa stood at the railing and looked down. "We're 'ere."

"Am I speakin' t' th' captain?" A merry Irish voice asked.

"Aye, ye are. Cap'n Barbossa, to be precise. And ye are?"

"Samuel Flynn, formerly Second Meete aboard the English schooner, the _Rugged Hermit_. Been in port fer a while noow, an' I figure it's time t' get off me arse and fin' meself another ship. Yeh need a hand?"

"Formerly a Second Mate? Is there a reason ye left?"

"Aye, well," the voice of Samuel Flynn paused to shrug, "I seem t' 'ave a problem wit' authority, on occasion. But only when the one givin' the orders is a right arse."

Barbossa chuckled. "Well, ye're honest enough a lad, I suppose." The laugh vanished from his voice. "Ye afraid of a bit of hard work, Master Flynn?"

"No, sir."

"You a hard worker, then?"

"Aye, sir."

Barbossa seemed to be smiling, though Squirrel couldn't see his face. "Ye ever been round the Cape?"

"Thirteen times, sir, each with a different vessel. An' a bloody fight with Mother Nature each time, it was."

Barbossa looked over his shoulder, glancing towards the stern. Squirrel followed his eyes, and saw Tia standing in the shadows. The swamp woman nodded slightly to Barbossa, then turned back to face the sea; Squirrel narrowed her eyes, wondering at this strange exchange. Barbossa turned back to look down at the docks.

"Well then, Master Flynn," the man in black called. "We need a few men t' help us around the Horn, and I see no reason why ye're not welcome. Just keep yer nose clean and we'll have no trouble. Welcome aboard."

"Aye sir! Thankye sir!"

Squirrel ducked her head and kept sewing, but she watched out of the corner of her eye as Samuel Flynn came up the gangplank. He had a wide grin on his face, a bag over one arm and a violin case under the other; he seemed neither rugged nor youthful, but something in between. He bore no scars, no sign of disease or malnutrition; his hair was careless but neat, and he was clean-shaven. It was a strange face for a sailor to have. Squirrel frowned to herself. He'd either spent a long, long time in port, or he was lying about being such an experienced sailor. He was certainly lying about his name. Perhaps he was just… _Oh, what does it matter? It's not like he's going to be staying with us for long_.

The Irishman shook hands with Barbossa, and was speaking to him, that grin still in place, as Squirrel examined him critically. As he was talking, Samuel glanced around the ship, and his eye chanced on Squirrel. Squirrel met his gaze, but showed no expression. The Irishman, on the other hand, stopped talking to Barbossa, and his mouth near dropped open.

"Picking up strays now, are we, captain?" Squirrel said scathingly, her eyes never leaving the Irishman.

"Master Flynn," Barbossa said offhandedly, "Ye'll meet the rest of the crew soon enough, but this here be Miss Grey, ship's lookout, cook and quartermaster." He grinned at Samuel. "Don't mind 'er - her bark's worse than her bite."

Samuel looked between Barbossa and Squirrel, surprised. "There's a woman aboard?"

"Aye," Barbossa nodded, "Three of 'em, as a matter of fact. But I wouldn't get too close t' Miss Grey, if I were ye." He grinned, this time at Squirrel. "Jus' because her bark's worse than her bite don't mean she don't bite."

Squirrel pulled a face at Barbossa - though was secretly pleased by the compliment - then focused her attention back on the sleeve of her coat.

"When ye're done there, Miss Grey," Barbossa continued, "Show Master Flynn to the crew's quarters, and let him know the rules." Squirrel looked up again, eyebrow raised in a silent question; Barbossa smiled, then looked back to Flynn. "The women aboard are more'n capable of takin' care of themselves, Master Flynn, but let me make it very clear now that any… incidents… will be punished severely." Squirrel saw the coldness in Barbossa's eyes, even from this distance, and did not doubt him for a moment. And she was glad.

Samuel nodded, not doubting Barbossa either. "Aye, sir. I understand, sir." His eyes never left Squirrel.

Barbossa smiled once more, tapped the brim of his hat, then strode down the gangplank, heading into town, leaving Squirrel and Samuel alone on the deck.

Samuel shifted on his feet, nervous. "So…" He started, trying to start a conversation. "Yeh have a first name, or are yeh jus' Miss Grey?"

"Sorry, paddy," Squirrel cut the thread and set down the needle, "I try to make it a habit not to talk to men who don't even give their real names."

The Irishman looked a little surprised. "Samuel Flynn is me real neeme."

Squirrel scoffed. "You're Irish." She looked Samuel dead in the eye. "There's no way 'Samuel Flynn' is an Irish name."

He had dimples when he smiled like that. "Alright, fine. Yeh caught me. Want the truth of it?" He paused, but Squirrel's only reply was a sardonically-raised eyebrow. With a shrug, Samuel said, "Well, when I were first signin' on t' a ship's company, the quartermaster was a trifle deaf. So when I told him me name…" He paused, adjusted the violin case he held under his arm, then pushed out his hand to shake, "Séamus." Squirrel just looked at him. With a shrug and an accepting smile, the Irishman withdrew his hand, and continued, "All he heard me sey was 'Sheem'. So that's what he wrote down. And then, when he called out, 'Sheem Flynn', everyone just thinks he's sayin' 'Sam' with that lisp of his. So, Sam Flynn. It's kinda grown on me, so I've no intention of cheenging it back anytime soon."

"What about Flynn?" Squirrel asked, still not convinced. "That's not particularly Irish."

Samuel's smile faded somewhat. "Me ma had her heart stolen by a man of the sea when she were younger," He said faintly. He looked out to sea, and missed the look on Squirrel's face. "She told me it caused her no end of sheeme, but for her son that caused her such pride." Sam shrugged, that smile of his reappearing. "Took 'is neem when I took off t'sea. I 'ope t' fin' the bastard somedee. Don't know what I'll do if I find 'im, though."

Squirrel managed a small, small smile at last. "You'll know what to do when the time comes."

"Aye," Samuel nodded, smiling faintly at Squirrel. "I suppose so."

Squirrel rose to her feet, and threw the coat on. She examined the length of the cuffs and hems critically, but could find little wrong with it. She'd stitched it up well. Squirrel smiled to herself, then looked up at the Irishman.

"Come on, then, Sam," She said, freeing her hair from the collar. "I'll show you to a spare bunk."

Sam tugged on his forelock. "Much obliged, Miss Grey."

"Squirrel," she said, in such a way that told she did not want to discuss it. "My name's Squirrel Grey."

* * *

Steel clashed against steel, and both combatants jumped back, looking for a second chance, another opening. Squirrel ducked low, bringing the sword upwards; Will brought his sideways and then down, brushing Squirrel's sword aside. Squirrel spun on the ball of her right foot, spinning quickly, turning her back on Will for an instant; Will, still recovering from his defending blow, winced as Squirrel's blade tapped the back of his neck. 

Pintel hooted and cheered; Gibbs stroked his chin, nodding to himself; the rest of the crew - both the old and the new - murmured amongst themselves, impressed.

"Very good," Barbossa said, watching the proceedings with folded arms and the monkey on his shoulder. "But it's a good idea to never turn your back on your opponent, angel, 'specially if he's still breathin'."

Squirrel nodded to Barbossa, and took her eyes off of her sparring partner for a split second. Will took advantage of her distraction and ducked back, out of the reach of Squirrel's blade. Before she had time to counter, Will stepped forward, pushing the edge of his blade towards her face. Out of reflex, Squirrel brought both hands up - Will's blade flicked through the air, and poked Squirrel gently in the stomach. Squirrel lowered her arms, defeated, and pulled a face. Will almost smirked.

"Again, Miss Grey?" He asked.

Squirrel stepped back and up onto a crate, and leapt up into the air, flipping over Will's head; the collective cry of awe and surprise from the crew were more than enough a reward for her. She tapped Will lightly on the back of the head with the flat of her blade, as though admonishing him. "Of course, William."

Will looked over his shoulder, smiling without his teeth. He'd seen Squirrel's leap-flip-turn trick last night, when she'd asked for another lesson. Squirrel had taken Barbossa's advice about turning her weaknesses to strengths to heart. As had Will. They had sparred on the silent deck of the sleeping caravel, their coattails whispering around their knees and their swords singing through the night air, slicing apart the sheets of equatorial rain.

_You teach me how to move fast, as well as you can_, he had said, while the two of them paused, panting in the soft rain and starlight, _And I'll teach you how to swim, and how to use a sword… as well as I can_.

Squirrel had saluted with the spare sword she'd found in the armoury, the lightest one there, and pushed her rain-soaked hair out of her face. _Deal_.

The giant storm clouds on the western horizon still had not broken yet, but they threatened to. The _Diana_ was moored now, just offshore, while the last of supplies were delivered and installed. The ship and her crew would soon be on its way, but for now they were just killing time. The sky was dark and gloomy, yet spirits aboard were high. As the _Diana_ had sailed southwards down Africa's western coast, Barbossa had found fifteen new crewmen in total, all of whom had approached the _Diana_ and asked to be welcomed aboard. All of them claimed experience in going around the Cape; Squirrel sensed something akin to fatalistic glee in many of them. Many of the men were the kind who would willingly face death just for the story to tell afterwards. Or, at the very least, for the experience many would never face.

Squirrel didn't know whether she shared their enthusiasm or whether she thought them all fools.

As she readied her sword again, Squirrel saw Elizabeth out of the corner of her eye. She had her hair tied back in a loose ponytail, and blended into the crew easily. She chose a seat next to the Irishman, Sam - who wore his haphazard grin still - and fixed her eyes on Will. Will glanced at Elizabeth briefly, but did not turn her way; his lips tightened, and his eyes hardened as he raised his sword. "When you're ready, Squirrel."

Squirrel grinned, and leapt to the attack. As she and Will danced around the deck, swinging their swords and stepping and lunging and parrying, the crew called and cheered, calling out words of support to whoever they were laying their bets on. But a few did not cheer. Barbossa watched silently, a faint approving smile about his lips; Elizabeth watched breathlessly, her smiles all for Will; Sam had his head tilted slightly, his eyes thoughtful. Squirrel tried not to let the Irishman's gaze throw her; Will tried not to let Elizabeth distract him.

Thunder grumbled and growled in the distance, and lightning flickered on the far horizon. Will stood firm on the deck, stepping forward, back or sideways when the situation called for it, but Squirrel constantly ducked and weaved, bobbing and swaying and jumping. While Will had the experience with the sword, Squirrel had the speed and the agility. Both were hoping the other's skill would rub off somewhat on them.

After a few more moments of swords clashing, Barbossa unfolded his arms and lifted his eyes skyward, judging the weather. "Alright, ye swabs! Enough dawdlin' here! The Cape's a-callin' and the fair weather won't hold for long! Let's get this lady flying!" The monkey screeched and leapt from his owner's shoulder.

"Aye, captain, aye!" The men scattered, scrambling up the rigging or heading below to get rest for the next watch. Barbossa glanced at Squirrel and Will once before crossing the deck to assume his role of captain, barking orders and rallying the men he'd hired. Squirrel, as she sheathed her sword, was once again amazed at how Barbossa could act in this manner. She'd seen a different side of him when the two of them were alone; a kinder, more introspective Hector Barbossa, given to moments of genuine grief and regret. Yet he seemed to affect an entirely attitude when the crew were around. It was like he was fulfilling their expectations, showing them that he hadn't changed at all. But he was only doing this because no-one wanted to give him a second chance. No wonder Will, Gibbs and the others didn't trust Barbossa. They didn't know he'd changed; they didn't know him at all.

_But can we really say we know anyone? Can I even say that I know myself?_ Squirrel pursed her lips in silent musing, amused by the depth of her thoughts. Samuel grinned at her, and Squirrel quickly composed her face, uncomfortable that he had seen her so unguarded.

"We'll resume some other time," Will said, clapping a hand on Squirrel's shoulder as he passed her. "When's your next shift?"

"I always take the dog watches, so I'm free for the rest." Squirrel shrugged. "You chose the time, William, and I'll be ready."

Will paused, frowning. "Surely, you need to sleep sometime."

Squirrel smiled and shrugged once more. "I'm a light sleeper. And I want to get good at this thing." She patted the hilt of her sword. Will nodded his understanding, then went off to attend to his duties.

Squirrel sat down on a crate on the deck and looked out over the sea, the wind playing with her hair. She was getting stronger. She no longer needed Marty's bracelets to help her gain strength in her arms. She'd taken to hauling ropes with the rest of the crew. Her hands and fingers were developing calluses from all the work. Not the kind of hands a woman should have, as Gibbs claimed, but Squirrel was insistent in toughening herself up, luck be damned.

Squirrel had needed room on her belt for the sword's sheath, and her new coat had many convenient pockets. As a result, she only carried her dagger, her bag of stones, and her deck of cards at her belt. The trail-mix of nuts, her shanghai and the collection of dice were all in various pockets of the coat. She reached into one of those pockets now, and pulled out a handful of her favourite food to snack on while the day passed them by. Squirrel looked back at the looming purple-grey clouds, and could tell from the smell of the air that it would not be long now before they broke. And they would break with a fury unsurpassed by any storm Squirrel had ever faced before.

"You're getting really good with the sword," Ragetti shuffled up to her, head bowed and eyes on the deck. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but Squirrel's gaze seemed to embarrass him into silence. "Really good," he repeated shyly.

"Thankyou," Squirrel bobbed her head, tossing back a few almonds. "All it takes is practice." She smiled. "Like you with your letters. You're getting better too, you know."

Ragetti bobbed his head, smiling to himself. "Th-thankye."

Pintel came to Squirrel's side, far bolder than his friend. "You goin' t' teach me some more about that 'multiplication' stuff tonight?"

Squirrel shrugged. "I don't see why not." She offered the handful of nuts to Pintel, and the pirate grinned and helped himself. Ragetti hung back, unsure.

Barbossa crossed the deck towards the three of them, a book in his hand. Pintel and Ragetti tensed, and moved surreptitiously closer to each other - and moving behind Squirrel, as though she were a shield - as their former captain approached.

"Thankye for lendin' me it, angel," Barbossa smiled, holding _Hamlet_ out to her. "It was good t' have such a thing t' read."

Squirrel flicked a few empty shells across the deck and accepted the proffered book back. "You're welcome, Barbossa." She flipped through the book, absently, before passing it to Ragetti. "You've obviously read this story many times, though," she asked, "Why did you want to borrow it from me?"

Barbossa grinned. "Just t' refresh me memory, is all." He shrugged. "And, if ye think about it, we've all a lot in common with the lad."

"H…" Ragetti frowned at the cover, sounding out the letters. "H… Hah… Ha-ham… Ham…"

"How so?" Squirrel tilted her head. "We're not avenging ourselves of anything."

"No," Barbossa agreed, "Maybe not. But we're certainly facing an impossible sort of task."

"Haml… Hamlet!" Ragetti said, finally able to work out the title. He looked up at Squirrel, able to meet her in the eye for once "That's Shakespeare, that is."

Pintel just frowned. "It's wot?"

Squirrel nodded. "Yes." She turned back to Barbossa. "Really, sir, I doubt I'd compare myself to someone wracked with indecision. I'd prefer to think I'd a bit more determination to me."

Barbossa grinned. "Ah, but he was only lacked determination because he didn't know whether that he'd been told was true or not. The Devil has the power to assume…"

"… a pleasing shape," Squirrel finished, "I know." _The same could be said for our set of circumstances - tht devil had such a smile..._ "But still. Hamlet spent more time wondering about whether it'd be better to kill himself than actually doing anything. It wasn't until the swordfight - the last act of the play - that he was able to put anything into action. He spent most of the play just whining about the unfairness of his life. 'To be or not to be', and all that tripe."

Barbossa looked amused. "Tripe? Unfairness? Angel, ye forget he lost his father. That would have been a heavy blow indeed, to lose a man so worthy." He tilted his head. "It would have turned his life upside-down. Surely, you can relate t' that?"

"Aye," Squirrel said, eyes dark. "I can." _My own father, and my mother… and then, another who I held dear…_ "But still he shouldn't just have let things fall to pieces around him." _Like I did_. _He should have been more of a hero. It's a story - people in stories are meant to be better than people in real life_.

Barbossa shrugged. "'e's only human, angel." Squirrel pulled a face, wondering how she'd been so easily read.

"'S not just the loss of 'is father that causes 'amlet to spiral into inaction and doubt," Ragetti piped in. "I mean, he was the prince of Denmark, right? So, he was supposed to be king. But e's not, 'cos 'is uncle took over, and so that'd be a bit of a blow. In addition, 'is girl's pretending she don't love 'im no more… And there's also the fact that 'amlet's probably suffering from that fing that comes from when you're an only child, and your mum - who previously lavished attention on you and you alone - has now found another person to which to give her affections. So, if you think about it, there's a lot of reasons why 'amlet's depressed, and perhaps a little overly cautious in 'is actions."

Squirrel and Barbossa both turned to stare.

Ragetti ducked his head behind the book. "'S just a thought," he mumbled, blushing.

There was a slight pause. "Despite your inability to read," Squirrel said to Ragetti, "You're very well-educated."

Ragetti lifted his head, his wooden eye lolling in its socket. "I like stories," he murmured, embarrassed but pleased.

Squirrel nodded, thoughtful. "Me too."

"Incredible," Barbossa murmured, almost to himself. He looked to Ragetti. "P'raps ye'll 'ave t' join us sometime," he said, cautiously, tentatively, "Next time Miss Grey an' I happen t' discuss the story." Squirrel glanced at Barbossa, and saw his attempt to 'set things right', to make amends with his former crewmen.

Ragetti ducked his head, nervous now for a different reason. "I-I-I I'll fink about it, cap'n." He squeaked out finally, unable to rely on his friend to back him up. Barbossa nodded, and looked away, hiding whatever he felt well.

The whole conversation had gone straight over Pintel's head. He just stood, glancing between the three of them, utterly lost. "Wot's goin' on again?"

Squirrel took the book back from Ragetti. "It's a story," she explained to Pintel. "I'll read some of it tonight, before my watch starts, if you want."

Ragetti nodded, and eager light kindling in his one good eye. "That would be somethin'! Thank you!"

Pintel looked at his friend, then shrugged to Squirrel. "Alright then. No 'arm in just 'earin' a story."

"No," Squirrel agreed, glancing at Barbossa. "None at all." Barbossa pulled a wry smile, then turned back to the crew to bark some more orders.

**

* * *

A/N:** Thankyou, The Flying Breadstick, for the inspiration behind the Barbossa and P'n'R interaction. Also, to Shakespeare for Hamlet. Suggestions and questions are always welcome. More reviews get the next chapters posted faster: sad but true. 


	18. A Song and Blades

**Disclaimer**: And the captain he is laughing… you can't control the fangirls…

**A/N**: More anecdotal stuff in this chapter, no major spoilers. It's my belief that the end of POTC3 will be summarised in either of these two songs: 'Mr Golden Deal' by Tonic, or 'I Still' by the Backstreet Boys. Most likely the former. This goes for all 'ships: J/E, W/E, N/E, J/OC, W/OC, TD/DJ… whatever (but not slash. Because slash will never happen in a Disney movie. Nyeh-nyeh.) Listen to 'Mr Golden Deal', because it's a beautiful song. Also, in this chapter, Squirrel sings a traditional sea-ballad! Yay!

* * *

The evening crept in, soft and velvet. Squirrel climbed down out of the rigging, her chores for the day ended. The other men sharing her watch were heading below, acknowledging her with a glance or a wave. Squirrel, however, stared once more out at sea. The thunderheads rose above the _Diana_, lightning crackling inside them and thunder audibly roaring, even at this distance. Squirrel frowned at the storm clouds. There was no possible explanation for why the storm had held off for so long. The weather was far too peculiar as of late. First, over a week of clear sailing with a high breeze, and now, storms on the horizon which had no discernible reason not to come break. Where were the storms Barbossa had said ravaged the African coast at this time of year? With a dismissive shrug, Squirrel turned away to go below. 

Tia Dalma stood at the railing, eyes closed tight in what might have been concentration, both hands pressed out in front of her, at the open sky. Her lips moved, but no sound came from them. Her bare feet were braced against the deck, and her shoulders were tensed. She looked to be holding back a great, invisible force by sheer willpower alone.

Squirrel looked at Tia, and felt very, very uneasy.

Tia opened her eyes and relaxed, but with a weary sigh. She murmured something to herself, and slumped down and away from the rails. Her eyes turned, and chanced upon Squirrel. The swamp woman's lips parted in a too-ready, too-knowing smile. "Good afternoon, Miss Greeh."

"It's just evening," Squirrel said, trying to hide her wariness.

Tia looked back out over the water. "Ah, yes," she nodded. "So is." She paused a long moment, then murmured faintly, "Deh storm break soon. One, maybe two dee frum now." She looked at Squirrel, warningly. "Best to be ready for it when it come, _oui_?"

Squirrel gave a small smile, wanting to go below as soon as possible, away from the voodoo witch. "Of course."

The silence of the evening was suddenly broken by the cheery strains of a violin. Tia lifted her head, smiling across the deck; Squirrel ducked her head and scowled. _Not again!_

The first day that Séamus had come aboard, he'd brought with him a violin. He'd proved himself very skilled with the instrument, and the crew all found his music a welcome respite from the usual silence that usually fell when work was hard. The crew laughed and clapped now, forming a circle around the furiously-fiddling Irishman, marking the time. Sam grinned and worked the bow back and forth, bobbing along with the music that he'd made. After a few moments, a couple of bolder men leapt up and started away, dancing to Sam's pirate jig.

"Hmm!" Tia smiled and purred. "'e's very good at dat, is he not?"

Squirrel scowled as she surveyed the revelry. "It would be better," she muttered, "If he didn't play so often." How many mornings had she woken up with a throbbing headache and bleary eyes, only to hear that damnable violin _scree-scree_-screeching away? It was music to everyone else, but when you've had a rough night and no sleep, it was the last thing you wanted to hear before dawn's first light. And if he wasn't playing his damnable violin, he was singing. Or worse, both at the same time. Squirrel grit her teeth.

Sam grinned over the deck at Squirrel as he sawed at the violin, making a motion with his chin: _Come on and join in!_ Squirrel folded her arms and stood steadfast.

Tia clucked her tongue. "Come, Miss Greeh. Is too nice a night to stand still."

Squirrel looked sidelong at Tia. "I don't feel like dancing." _Especially not to any song that the paddy chooses to play_.

Sam drew the bow again and again, slower now, ending the song. The crew clapped and cheered, the ones who had been dancing fell breathless and laughing to the deck. Sam grinned, rose from his seat, and bowed to all. Then he lifted his eyes to Squirrel and crossed the deck towards her.

"Can I entice yeh t' dance, Miss Grey?" Sam made a flourish, and secured his instrument a little more securely under his chin. "What tune do yeh fancy?" He grinned and waited.

Squirrel tightened the fold of her arms, her shoulders rising up. "No."

"Aw, don't be like that," Sam's mouth fell at the corners, but his eyes were merry. He played a lighting quick flourish on the violin. "Neeme a song. Any song. If I don' knoo it, I'll jus' make it oop."

"I'm not dancing." Squirrel saw Tia slip away out of the corner of her eye. _Coward_, she thought, _leaving me to suffer this embarrassment on my own_.

Sam shook his head. "Miss Grey, if there's one thing I've learned, it's that yeh either _can't_ dance, or yeh _won't_. There's no 'I'm not dancin'. Which is it, eh?"

"I won't dance," Squirrel said firmly. The crew's eyes were all on her, and she was determined to get out of this.

Sam lowered his bow, looking disheartened. "Yeh sure?" He paused, then brightened. "How 'bout a song, then? Can yeh sing, Miss Grey?"

Squirrel grit her teeth and seriously contemplated breaking the Irishman's violin over his head.

"Come on then," Sam readied his violin. "If yeh won't dance, at least give us the pleasure of hearin' yeh voice."

"I'm not singing," Squirrel said calmly, then lowered her voice to a hiss. "Especially not for you."

Sam frowned slightly. "What?"

"Ah, Flynn?" Gibbs broke through the crowd, trying to salvage the situation at long last, "It's the end of Miss Grey's shift. It might not be the best idea…"

But the rest of the crew drowned him out, calling out for Squirrel, suggesting songs and egging her on. Squirrel looked around, trapped, for Will or someone to come to her rescue. But there was no-one. And Gibbs could do nothing. The crew's calling got a little louder, a little rowdier. And there, in the middle of it all, Sam with his careless smile.

"I'm not singing!" Squirrel barked, silencing the crew. "I don't want to dance, and I don't want to sing!" A slightly hurt, embarrassed silence issued from the crew. Squirrel took a breath, then turned to glare at Sam. "Why won't you just let me be?"

Sam never took his eyes from Squirrel. "Because I knoo yeh ken sing," he said, smiling. "Yeh've got that look in yeh eyes." He readied his violin again. "Come on, luv. Give us a song."

Squirrel's temper broke, and she lashed out, attacking him. But not with her fist or a dagger, but with her voice.

"_And she has come down to condemn that wild ocean_," she sang with all the passion and force she commanded, her voice high and beautiful and hurt and angry, "_For the murderous loss of her man. His boat sailed out on a Wednesday morning_…" Her voice tapered away, a dying fall, "_And it's feared she's gone down with all hands_…"

Sam's eyes were wide, and he gaped, shocked into silence. Likewise were the rest of the crew.

Squirrel took her time getting her breath back, and glared at the Irishman. "There," she spat, "Happy now? You got your song." She folded her arms again, then turned away, choking on something caught in her throat as she went below.

* * *

"I'm sorry." 

Squirrel lifted her head, and saw Sam standing in the doorway, head bowed. For once, he wasn't grinning. There wasn't even a spark of a smile in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," The Irishman repeated, genuinely remorseful. "I didn't know."

"You didn't know what?" Squirrel snapped, setting aside the dishcloth. The dishes would dry on their own, from the fire in the galley, but it gave Squirrel a sense of purpose to be doing something. Especially if it took her mind off something. And yet, after half an hour of mindlessly washing and drying the dishes, here was the Irishman once again, reminding her of what she'd wanted to forget.

Sam looked up at her with deep mournful eyes. "I knoo I shouldn't-a, but I asked aroond." He did not falter under Squirrel's glare, but made a sad smile. "Anyways, they told me yeh were in love with the previous cap'n of the ship, and that he… that he died." Sam shrugged awkwardly, looking away. "I guess that's who yeh were singin' aboot. I'm sorry. I had no right t' try to mek yeh sing, an' I'm sorry if it peened yeh."

Squirrel looked at Sam, saying nothing. She didn't know whether to be suspicious of his apology, to ignore it… or to accept it. Would it be so hard to do the latter? _He certainly seems apologetic enough_. But Squirrel said nothing.

"I must be hard," Sam said, eyes full of sorrow, "Losin' someone yeh love."

Squirrel said nothing. She wasn't going to tell this temporary crewman anything.

Sam paused, awkward. "I apologise again," he said, bobbing his head. "Dinna mean t'…" He faltered, and sighed. "I dinna mean t' stir up yeh hurt." He couldn't meet her eyes, for some reason; he stared at the floor and scuffed his boots. "An' it was right un-gentlemanly of meh t' insist on such a thing. T'was just a song, after all, and… urgh." He ran his hand through his hair, his eyes flicking to Squirrel at last. "Miss Grey, I feel a right fool. Can yeh forgive me?"

"Next time," Squirrel said quietly, "Next time I say I don't want to do something, pay attention."

Sam's grin ghosted around his mouth. "Aye, I will." Squirrel turned her back on him, dismissing him, but the Irishman remained in the doorway. "Let me mek it opp t' yeh."

Squirrel glanced at him. "How, exactly, do you intend to do that?"

"Yeh friends tell me yeh lost yeh memories. That's why yeh call yehself Squirrel, aye?" Sam shrugged, his smile returning. "Well, I could help yeh remember yeh name."

Squirrel raised an eyebrow. "Good luck with that."

Sam grinned, not knowing he was being none-too-politely dismissed. "Right then… Polly? Sarah? Caitlyn?"

Squirrel frowned. "What?"

"Oh, you knoo," he shrugged, and leaned against the doorpost, "I figure if I sey enoogh neems, one of 'em's bound t' be the right one, aye?"

Squirrel rolled her eyes. "Suit yourself," she said, without enthusiasm, "but I think you'll find I've already tried that." Every night in Tortuga, and every night on the _Pearl_, she'd spent countless hours thinking, trying to find the name that struck a chord. 'Rose' worked sometimes, but only because it was her mother's name. 'Squirrel' was what she was stuck with.

Sam grinned. "Oh, but it's alweeys worth a shot, aye?"

Squirrel rolled her eyes. "As you were, Master Flynn."

The Irishman tugged his forelock as he left the galley. "Aye, Lily-Daisy-Rose… ma'am."

Squirrel turned away to hide the soft smile that was pulling at the corners of her lips.

* * *

The sea was beginning to boil, and the winds were huffing and pulling angrily at the _Diana_'s sails. Squirrel clambered down from the rigging, glad her watch was over. Some of the men - even the older ones, experienced in rounding Cape Horn and weathering the seas - were looking uneasily to the western horizon. There was nothing but a wall of angry rising clouds as far as the eye could see, a blockade of shapeless, bruise-coloured behemoths that reared over the boundless ocean. 

Once again, Squirrel's instinct told her the storm should break any day now - that they should have broken weeks ago. She rubbed her arms, feeling strangely cold even under her coat.

"Miss Grey!" Squirrel looked over and saw Barbossa striding from his cabin, something in his hands. "A moment, if ye will?"

The sounds of a violin - a slow, deep strain today, emphasising the approaching storms - wound through the wind. Elizabeth was sitting on the starboard side, head tilted, watching the world go by but heeding only the music. Will stood on deck, looking out to sea, but he turned to catch Squirrel's eye as she moved to Barbossa. He smiled to her, a smile that was as brief as the lightning that flickered above their heads.

"Yes, sir?"

Barbossa smiled. "Before ye go below, I thought I should give ye this." He held it out of her: a rectangular wooden box, roughly a hand width long, deep and wide. On top of it was a long leather belt, scored with many holes - buttonholes, perhaps - and no buckle.

"What are these?" Squirrel asked, taking the belt - more of a sash, really - and examining the fine brown leather.

"I picked these up in a port fer ye," Barbossa explained, motioning that Squirrel should slip the belt over her head. Squirrel did so, adjusting the belt so it crossed her chest diagonally, from her left shoulder to her right hip.

"When ye were practicing with Mister Turner," Barbossa indicated Will with a jerk of the head, "Ye said ye had had a sharp eye, and that ye shanghai was one of your strengths." He tilted his head at her. "But how's your throwing arm?"

Squirrel plucked a stone from her coat pocket, hefted it in her hand, and looked about for a target. A block and tackle was swinging in the wind, at the other end of the ship. Squirrel hurled the stone, and everyone heard the _thunk_ it made, and saw the tackle swing contrary to the wind. Barbossa nodded, impressed.

"Sometimes," Squirrel explained, proud of herself for once, "In Tortuga, I couldn't reach my shanghai fast enough. So I just threw the rocks instead."

"You did the same thing in the orchard," Watching the conversation from the railing, Will said, "With the papayas."

Squirrel frowned at Will, then recalled the incident, and nodded with a smile. "I've gotten stronger since then, don't forget."

Barbossa smiled at Squirrel. "So, angel, ye've a sharp eye and a strong arm." He opened the box he held. "Then these should be perfect."

The box was filled with row upon row of tiny daggers, all as long as Squirrel's little finger, thin as paper and needle-sharp. Squirrel stared, awed, then looked to Barbossa for an explanation.

"Throwing daggers." Barbossa grinned, and the monkey swung down from the rigging to chatter on his shoulder. "While its impressive how far ye've come with a sword, Miss Grey, I think that it may not be the weapon ye'll ever completely master. These, on the other hand…" He plucked out a handful and gave them to Squirrel. "These'll be your best bet in any fight."

Squirrel accepted the tiny slivers of metal, and examined the craftwork on them. "They're beautiful," she murmured. Barbossa's compliment had been double-edged; she looked up to him now, eyebrow raised. "You think I'll never master the sword?"

Her words stirred Will, prompting him to rise and come towards Barbossa. "With all due respect," Will said, eyes dark, "Squirrel could very well…"

Barbossa held up a hand, silencing protests. "Angel," he told her with a shrug, "In a fight one-on-one, ye'll more'n likely rise the victor, simply because ye move so damn fast." Squirrel ginned at that, and Will pulled a half-wry, half-amused expression. "However," Barbossa continued, "In a fight where ye face a superior opponent - or opponents, as the case may be - ye'll be cut down. There's only so much ye can learn about a weapon that ye're not used to."

"And I _am_ used to throwing things." Squirrel nodded, looking at the daggers she held. "So that's what I should practice?"

"I'm not sayin' ye should stop bein' taught how t' use the sword," Barbossa said, drumming his thumbs on the box of daggers, "But these little knives'll be a much better weapon fer ye t' learn."

"Of course. I understand." The notches on the belt, the hole that decorated its entire length, served a purpose after all. Squirrel slipped the handful of daggers through the holes, one by one. The belt across her chest soon bristled with silver points, the handles up so they could be easily pulled out.

"Ye won't be able t' practice much with them 'til after we're around the Cape," Barbossa said, handing Squirrel the box, "Due to the weather and all. But I'm sure they'll come in handy."

"Thankyou, Barbossa." Squirrel smiled up at the scarred man. "Thankyou." She twirled a dagger between her fingers. "I look forward to using these." She quickly pivoted on her foot and flicked the blade from her fingers. It went buzzing through the air like an angry wasp before hitting the middle of the mast with a _thock_! The violin music suddenly stopped, and someone - Sam, most likely - burst into applause. Squirrel grinned, pleased.

"Did you teach yourself how t' do that, angel?" Barbossa asked, eyes sparkling.

Squirrel shrugged as went to the mast to retrieve her dagger. "All I'm doing is throwing rocks, Barbossa. Just… very _sharp_ rocks."

Will had drawn his sword, and was examining it thoughtfully. As soon as Squirrel was away from the mast, his arm snapped, and his sword sliced through the air, _thunk_ing into the mast with deadly accuracy, and swung there, trapped in the wood, singing from the force of the blow. Sam's violin - which had started up again - paused a moment, then picked up, playing a jaunty jig by way of applause. Elizabeth's eyes were wide with admiration, but there was no smile around her lips.

"I know ye taught yourself how to use a sword, Mister Turner," Barbossa said, appearing unruffled but just as impressed. "Did ye teach yourself to do that too?"

Will looked to Squirrel, dark eyes shining. "Of course."

Squirrel grinned, and slipped more of the tiny daggers into her knife-belt, and set the box against the mast. "Well, I don't think I need to learn how to _throw_ a sword, William, but my blocking leaves a lot to be desired. Can we spar for a while?"

Will retrieved his sword and stood at the ready; Squirrel's grin matched his as she drew her sword and flew at him, and they danced together, steel clashing and ringing in the air.

**

* * *

A/N:** I told my dad about the violin-playing Irishman, and he said immediately 'Smash it over his head'. When I told him that Squirrel merely 'considered' it, Dad was adamant: 'I demand smashing!' Sorry, Dad. He'll still need that violin for later. Anyhoo - leave me a review, then go listen to that song I recommended. Chapters will be posted faster because the movie's coming out soon this year, but I still like getting reviews. 


	19. Drunk and Disorderly

**Disclaimer**: _Ni men shi bai chyr_… I'm just a disclaimer.

**A/N**: May is fast approaching and we're still not up to Singapore yet! I'll have to post the chapters faster. I'm going off to college soon, so wish me luck!

* * *

The day was much later when Squirrel returned to the hold. She staggered and reeled, swaying with even the slightest movement of the ship. The wood rocked gently with the waves; Squirrel wavered and swayed with the ship, her arms outstretched for the balance she couldn't find, her hands and fingers curling and flailing through the air. Her head and hips lead the way of her walk, which was really more of a stagger. One step with one foot, three with the other; a sideways shuffle followed by one sure step, followed by a sort of tapping dance, followed by a pause and a sway leading to the opposite direction. She kept bumping into crates and barrels as she tottered towards her little cubbyhole in the hold. Weak-legged as a lamb. 

"Maa-aa-aa," Squirrel bleated, amused by the thought, then started to giggle. As soon as she reached her hiding place, she toppled over, and landed on her back, looked up at the ceiling, and continued to giggle, unable to stop. Her right hand twitched, dancing on the end of her wrist. Squirrel watched it, amused. It seemed to be acting without her, twisting and twirling on the end of her wrist.

As her hand continued to twitch, the laughter slowly died, and a thought pierced the fog that had enveloped her brain. _His hand used to do that_.

The ship swayed again, but Squirrel lay perfectly still.

"Maa-aa." She said, this time without a smile. She reached around behind her, and her hands closed around a half-empty bottle of rum. Still prone on the planking, she lifted the bottle to her lips.

"Squirrel?"

Squirrel breathed a curse and quickly hid the bottle behind a crate. No-one was supposed to come down here! Wiping her lips and hoping she would not give herself away, Squirrel pushed herself to her feet, leaned against a barrel so as not to fall over, and faced the light of the lantern and the woman who held it.

"What is it, Lizzie?" She asked, tone as pleasant as she could manage.

Elizabeth held the lantern high, dispelling the shadows of the hold. "I need to talk to you," she murmured. "About Will."

Squirrel's hand went to her dagger; a lazy, instinctive motion. "What about him?"

Elizabeth set the lantern down, yet could not meet Squirrel's gaze. "I…" She took a breath, and stared at the glass-warped flame of the lantern. "I wanted to ask you something." Despite her whisper, and the plea in her eyes, she kept a distance between herself and Squirrel.

"Ask away," Squirrel yawned, wanting the woman to hurry up and be gone already.

Elizabeth looked Squirrel in the eye. "He's been teaching you the sword. But he and I haven't… fought… for over a month now."

Squirrel frowned, shaking her head. _Oh, you'll fight someday. You and him'll fight someday soon._ "You want me to ask Will to spar with you?" When Elizabeth nodded, Squirrel just smiled. "Why, Miss Swann, is something the matter between you two, that you can't ask him yourself?"

Elizabeth's eyes went fathomless for a moment. "He won't speak to me."

Squirrel did her best to hide a smile. "And why, do you think, that might be?" Elizabeth didn't answer. Squirrel put a hand over her heart, and swooned back in mock-horror. "Oh, Lizzie! You're blaming me? You think I'm coming between you two, is that it?"

"No!" Elizabeth looked alarmed. "Of course not!" She paused, and stared out into nothing. "I'm just… Will seems so distant. I don't know why."

Squirrel leant back against the support beam, and folded her arms. "Talk to him, then. Ask him why he doesn't…" She put a hand over her mouth and batted innocuous eyelashes. "Oh, no, that's not for me to say."

"What isn't?" Elizabeth's urgency was palpable. "What?

"Oh, nothing." Squirrel shrugged. "Nothing of importance."

"You know something." Elizabeth pleaded, "Please. I need to know why Will is like this."

Squirrel lowered her hand and let her eyes go dead. "Then ask him yourself," she said, voice low and dangerous. "I'm not going to come or go between you two. You're supposed to be marrying him, aye? So there should be no hesitation to speak between you two." She smiled lopsidedly. "No… secrets."

Elizabeth shrank out of the light slightly. "Secrets? What secrets?"

Squirrel smiled, a slow smile that crept across her face. "If Will's not talking to you, perhaps _you_ should talk to him. Unless," she examined her nails, "Unless, of course, you're not capable of it."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Elizabeth looked so uneasy, though, belying her words.

"If you can't talk to Will, that's your own fault. Don't come to me looking for help. He's your fiancé, not mine."

Elizabeth picked up the lantern, disheartened. "I'll speak to him myself, then."

Squirrel laughed. "Of course! You do that!" She tilted her head, and smiled slowly once more. "If your conscience doesn't get the better of you." She shrugged. "Not that it should, of course. Let the galled jade wince, our withers are unwrung!" Squirrel laughed faintly as Elizabeth turned and left the hold. Shadows descended back into the hold, filling the space with blackness. Somewhere, up above, the bells tolled, indicating the change of watch. Time for her to go on duty.

_You bitch_, her conscience scowled.

"She deserves worse." Squirrel whispered, retrieving the hidden bottle. "I was kinder than I could have been." She took a swig, then stepped lightly through the hold, heading for the deck. _Words are wonderful things_, she smiled to herself, _They're sharper than daggers, and leave more lasting scars_.

As she rounded the corner, still smiling to herself, a face hollowed by shadows cast from a lantern glowered through the darkness at her. Squirrel stumbled to a halt, and stared, wide-eyed, then quickly composed her face. She tried not to show how his appearance in the darkness of the hold had frightened her.

"What are you doing down here?"

Sam said nothing. His face was hard. He looked pointedly at the bottle in Squirrel's hand.

"Move, Flynn," Squirrel tried to sound authoritative, "I've got lookout duty tonight."

"Oh, aye?" Sam nodded, his voice as stony as his eyes. "Lookin' out fer what, exactly?"

"I don't have to answer to you." Squirrel made to step around him.

"Yeh drunk." Sam hung his lantern on a nail from a beam, then turned back and folded his arms. "Yeh drunk, yeh stink of rum, and yeh still drinkin'. 'ow long have yeh been doin' this?"

Squirrel deliberately lifted the bottle to her lips and swigged again. "None of your business, paddy."

"Yes it is!" Sam snapped, in a rare show of temper that quieted Squirrel immediately. "If I'm t' be a part o' this crew, then the crew's safety is my concern!"

"Who died and made you captain?" Squirrel muttered.

Sam's frown deepened. "Cap'n Barbossa hired me t' see yeh all safe round the Cape. I'd take it very person'ly indeed if one of yeh should fall foul, even if it weren't me fault." He tilted his head. "What's a girl like you doin' drinkin', anyways?"

"Ophelia had her madness," Squirrel muttered, "And I have mine."

The Irishman's eyes darkened. "Ah. So this that what this is about, then? Yeh man? Yeh drinkin' t' forget the cap'n yeh lost?"

Squirrel clutched her bottle in both hands, and tried to look unrattled. "Shut up."

"It seems to me," he continued, "That someone who's lost their memory would be a fool t' try to forget any more."

"Stop it."

"Do yeh friends know yeh doin' this? Do they know 'ow miserable yeh are?"

"I'm fine."

"No yeh not." Sam stepped towards her, closing the space between them, and softened his voice and his eyes. "Squirrel - Squirrel Grey - why are yeh doin' this t' yehself?"

She wanted to laugh in his face, wanted to push past him and move with all the confidence she could affect. But she couldn't. She couldn't even speak. Squirrel lifted the bottle to her lips, but did not have the strength to down another mouthful of the foul stuff. She lowered her hand, and looked out at the darkness. Her own mind was betraying her, replaying images which she'd tried time and time again to drown.

Sam saw the pain and grief in Squirrel's eyes, and relented with a pained sigh. "I should tell the cap'n," he said wearily.

"No!" The word burst from Squirrel's lips; a sudden bark of alarm. "No, don't tell him! He wouldn't understand."

Sam looked at her sadly. "_I_ understand," he murmured, "An' I'm not even a friend of your'n. I don't even knoo yeh all that well, either. Wouldn't your cap'n understand yeh better'n I?"

Squirrel grit her teeth, silently rebuilding her defences through the alcoholic haze on her mind. "No. No-one would." And then she paused, and looked at Sam, and realised what she'd said, what she'd admitted. And to whom she'd admitted it. What a fool she'd been!

"Then I won't tell the cap'n. But _yeh'll_ have t'." Sam ran a hand through his hair and sighed, missing the hardening of Squirrel's expression. "Listen, I knoo it's not me place t' sey this, but yeh have t' stop drinkin'. It's bad fer yeh. In more ways than one." He stopped, and made sure he had Squirrel's gaze before adding, "Yeh hafta goo 'roun' the Cape sober, Miss Grey. Otherwise, yeh'll die."

"Die?" Squirrel smirked, nearly laughing at the absurdity of it. "Really?"

Sam did not smile back. "Men have been claimed by the sea for even a split second's worth o' carelessness. Cape Horn's an unforgivin' bitch of a passage. It'll kill yeh, if yeh unprepared. Stop drinkin'. Yeh'll only get yehself killed." He picked the lantern off the nail, and took it with him, back into the shadows, with only one final backwards glance. A look of pleading sorrow. And perhaps something more.

Squirrel watched him go, a scowl on her face. _Stupid, interfering paddy. Who is he to tell me what I can and can't do?_ … _And maybe it's want I want, anyway!_ She turned away, hiding the bottle in a coat pocket, and went up on deck. She was already late for watch as it was. She didn't want to get into trouble because of that idiot's meddling.

There was no-one about. It was that late, late time of evening when everything was still. The only sounds that were came from the rigging and the sails straining in the wind. There were no crewmen that she could see - all were below and at rest. With a careless sway to her walk, Squirrel crossed the deck to the ratlines, and climbed up and up until she reached the top. Then she clambered onto the small platform of the crow's nest, and sat down slowly.

The cold glass of the bottle welcomed her grip. Squirrel stared out over the stars, and felt at ease. She sipped lightly from the bottle, and wondered at how much easier it was to down the drink now. It didn't seem to scorch her throat that badly anymore. Slightly dizzy, Squirrel leaned against the mast and sighed, the bottle held close for comfort. She sat there, rocked gently by the ship and by the swirling haze of the drink, and let time pass her by.

Die. Surely, that was nothing more than an exaggeration. How could one die in weather this calm? Squirrel opened her eyes and looked up at the sky again. A gibbous moon hung low in the sky, like a drawn-back bow, over the _Diana_'s prow. Behind the ship, following close in her wake, were the giant wall of rumbling, flickering clouds. Squirrel shook her head wryly, and turned back to stare at the moon, the bottle lifting halfway to her lips.

Crouched on the edge of the crow's nest was a bundle of rags, bones and tattered skin. Squirrel gave a short cry, then laughed at her stupidity.

"Oh." She chuckled. "Just you, monkey." She smiled. "Have you thought of a name I can give you yet?" The undead monkey remained crouched, not even offering a chatter or a hiss in reply. "Right," Squirrel laughed. "I'm calling you Sam. What do you think of that, ey?"

The monkey didn't even move, but there was a slight twitch of what remained of its upper lip.

Squirrel frowned. "Something wrong?" _Aside from the fact I'm talking to a monkey_…

The monkey unfolded one arm, and pointed. It seemed to frown darkly at Squirrel; it looked… disappointed with her, if that was even possible.

Squirrel looked down, at the bottle she held, then back at the monkey, alarm shattering the peace she'd achieved only a moment before. "You wouldn't."

Without so much as a 'by your leave', the monkey leapt off into space. Squirrel swore, and hauled herself quickly to her feet. She looked around, frantically, trying to find someplace to hide the bottle. But there was nowhere. With a pained grimace at the wastage, Squirrel drew back her arm and threw as hard as she could. She watched the bottle glint in the moonlight before it was lost. The ship moved quickly with the wind in its full sails. There was barely a splash as the bottle was claimed by the sea.

_Safe_. Squirrel heaved a sigh, relieved, and made to sit down again.

There was the sound of heavy footsteps on the deck below. Squirrel froze, listening to them cross the deck, and felt a shiver march up and down her spine with every step. Silence descended suddenly, but the shivers remained. Squirrel winced, pained, and knew that someone was waiting for her. She peered guiltily down over the edge.

Barbossa glowered back up at her, arms folded, standing at the base of the mast. He hooked one finger - a 'come here' motion - then stood and waited. A man such as him has the kind of patience that would outlast even the earth itself. And there was an undeniable authority in him, one which would not be denied.

Squirrel leaned up against the mast and shut her eyes. "Dammit," she whispered.

The monkey scrabbled up the ropes, then perched on the edge of the crow's nest. Squirrel looked daggers at it. "You little traitor." It just shrugged at her, as though to say, 'you brought this on yourself'.

And Squirrel knew he was right.

* * *

"Care t' explain yourself, Miss Grey?" 

_Miss Grey?_ Squirrel could not meet his eyes. _So I'm not 'angel' anymore?_

"I'm waitin'."

Squirrel shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

Barbossa's eyes narrowed menacingly. Drunk and stupid, Squirrel's bluffing was ineffective. Especially against this man. "D'ye take me for a fool, Miss Grey? I had believed you had higher expectations of me." He left a long enough pause to make Squirrel feel awkward, then barked out, "Ye've been drinkin' and comin' to watch drunk for over a month now. Don't think I've not known. So, I'll ask again: care t' explain yourself?"

Squirrel stared morosely at the toes of her shoes. The candlelight flickered around her, casting strange shadows on the walls of Barbossa's cabin. Framed pictures, maps, mementos - all possessions of the previous captain of the _Diana_ - lined the walls and filled a bookshelf; the light and shadows cast by the candles made everything dance and jump eerily. Barbossa stood behind his desk, arms folded and monkey on his shoulder. He seemed to loom even larger in the darkness, seem somehow more frightening, threatening, than he ever had in the daylight.

"I was thirsty?" Squirrel risked the comment, and paid for it.

"Don't get smart with me," Barbossa snarled, and his temper frightened the alcohol-emboldened Squirrel back into silence. Barbossa considered her, eyes icy, for a long moment. Then, he pulled something from his coat pocket - a sheaf of papers, covered with neat notes in black ink.

"Ye've been abusin' your position as quartermaster, Miss Grey. Abusin' the responsibility I trusted ye with." He looked at Squirrel hard. "Ever since we reached Africa, ye've been drinkin' yourself t' sleep, and risin' every mornin' with a hangover. Ye've been purposely impairin' yourself, though ye hid it well enough. Ye hid it so well, I had me doubts." He paused a moment. "That's why I had a second quartermaster installed aboard, to make sure the counts ye gave me were true."

Squirrel lifted her head at last, and stared - horrified - at Barbossa. "What?" Someone had been double-checking her carefully-fabricated reports? "Who?"

Barbossa did not react to the accusation in her eyes, nor did he answer her question. "Had my doubts proved wrong, Miss Grey - and had ye been what ye appeared t' be - then we wouldn't be here, having this discussion. And I had hoped - hoped sincerely, Miss Grey - that I had been wrong. Alas."

Squirrel dropped her head again, flushing with shame.

Barbossa dropped the sheaf of papers on his desk and folded his arms again. "Four barrels of rum went missin' in just over a month, Miss Grey. And while it may not _all_ be because of ye, four barrels is a significant number. A lot of alcohol. Too much, one could say."

Squirrel stared at the papers, feeling hope slip through her fingers, grain by grain. "Four barrels?" She whispered, unable to believe it herself. It was only a bottle here and there… But four barrels? In over four weeks?

"Aye." Barbossa said, evenly, but his eyes belied his calmness. "Once more, Miss Grey: can ye explain this?"

Squirrel stood silent, swaying slightly on her feet. Finally, before the silence stretched too long, Squirrel offered a quiet: "Nightmares."

The monkey climbed down from his master's shoulders to sit placidly on the desk. Barbossa tilted his head. "Beg pardon?"

"I have nightmares." Squirrel said, forcing the words one by one. "And I can't sleep, they get so bad."

There was a flicker of understanding in Barbossa's eyes for a moment, but he masked it quickly. "Really? So, for over a month, ye've not told anyone this. And ye've been drinkin' t' drown your sorrows."

Squirrel nodded miserably, then glanced up, startled. "No! No, no! Just the dreams! Only the dreams! I'm fine!" She forced a laugh that sounded choked. "I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine. Just bad dreams, that's all!"

Barbossa's anger returned in force. "So ye stole from the crew, and endangered yourself and others jus' so ye could get t' sleep at night, is that it?" Squirrel shrank back into silence. Barbossa's eyes glinted as sharp as steel. "I had thought ye were better'n that, Miss Grey. I had thought ye an intelligent young woman, surrounded by friends who cared for ye, that ye could turn t' whene'er ye felt down." He paused once more. "The punishment for theft, and for appearin' drunk on duty, is twelve lashes with the cat. For each offence."

Squirrel winced and backed up, afraid. "No," she murmured, "Please! I'm sorry!"

"And," Barbossa added, unmoved, "At the very least, we should put ye off at the next port."

Squirrel wailed now. "No! Please! You can't do that!"

Barbossa waved his hand, dismissing her like an annoying fly. "I'm not talkin' t' ye when ye're in this state, Miss Grey. Go back t' your bunk, sleep off the drink, and we'll talk in the mornin'."

Squirrel ducked her head, sullen and afraid. "You wouldn't," she croaked, refusing to bow to Barbossa's threats. "You wouldn't get rid of me."

"A thief and a drunkard?" Barbossa chuckled sourly. "Oh, yes I would."

"I'm not a thief!" Squirrel slurred angrily.

"Your notes say otherwise," Barbossa said, unmoved.

"And I'm not a drunkard!"

Barbossa's eyes were ice-cold. "Ye have the gall t' say that t' me, when ye can barely stand up on your own two feet, and with breath like a distillery? I saw ye throw that bottle overboard t' try and hide the fact ye were drinkin' on duty. Go below and sleep it off, Miss Grey. We will discuss your punishment tomorrow."

"No!" Squirrel braced her feet on the deck. "I'm not going anywhere!"

Barbossa's speed with a sword was unparalleled; even when he chose not to use a sword, he still moved faster than an old man could and should be able to. One moment, Squirrel was shouting at the man in black - the next, she was staring open-mouthed at empty space.

And Barbossa was standing inches from her, his eyes boring into hers.

"I had hoped it wouldn't come t' this," he muttered, looking dark. And almost reluctant. He grabbed Squirrel by the arm, and dragged her. Squirrel, too surprised and drunk to rebel, let him drag her. Barbossa pulled her along, getting not resistance, until Squirrel saw where she was being pulled.

Barbossa's bed.

Fear replaced the stupid drunken haze. "NO!"

"It's for your own good."

Squirrel tugged herself out of the man's grasp and tried to turn and flee - Barbossa's hand snaked out and caught her once again before she could even take a take, gripping her shoulder like a claw. Squirrel shouted words which were not words - so many curse words and threats and pleas burst from her lips at once that all that could be heard was a drunken bellow. A bellow which had no effect on the stoic-faced pirate.

"Let me GO!"

Barbossa said nothing, but pushed Squirrel onto the mattress. Squirrel was on her feet in an instant, trying to push him out of her way and to the door. Barbossa stood, an unmoving wall, and closed both her wrists in one hand. He looked the spitting, snarling Squirrel in the eye, indifferent and unshaken. Squirrel kicked and struggled, but his grip on her wrists was far too strong. Fear was rising up in her, making her weak, weaker than her already-drunken state. She'd never imagined that Barbossa would even dare do what men in Tortuga had attempted many times before. She'd trusted him! She'd stood up for him! She'd fought for him! Yet…

Barbossa threw her away from him. Squirrel's feet were kicked from under her, and she found herself gasping and swearing on her back, her flailing legs getting tangled in the sheets. A thoughts pierced the fog of her brain - _dagger!_ - and her hands flew to her side, her chest. But she'd left both belts and all her weapons at her bunk, having intended to sleep in the crow's nest.

Barbossa loomed over her, watching silently as Squirrel struggled to free herself from the bedclothes. She'd fight him off tooth and claw, if she had to! She wasn't going to let him have his way with her! No way in hell! Squirrel hauled herself upright and made to jump, to claw and bite…

A sharp, snapping pain to the side of her face killed her resolve, and sent her reeling back down onto the mattress to lie still and stunned and silent. Barbossa had slapped her.

"As I said," his voice was calm and cold, "I'll not talk t' ye now, when ye're in this state. Sleep it off, Miss Grey. We'll speak in the mornin'." And he was gone, his presence extinguishing a handful of candles as he went.

Squirrel put a hand to her face and whimpered. She could still feel Barbossa's hands, even though he had moved off: clutching her wrist like a vice, closing tightly around her shoulder, his palm contacting brusquely with her face. She closed her eyes and rolled onto her side, wanting to avoid the inevitable but knowing she could not. She was helpless, and overpowered. Betrayed.

_Do what you have to_, she closed her eyes, whimpering, _And get it over with_.

She heard the door open and close; she heard the lock turn and click into place. And then she heard nothing else.

It took Squirrel a long while to realise she'd been locked in Barbossa's cabin alone. By that time, the sting from Barbossa's rebuke had died down, and Squirrel's eyes were adjusting to the dark. It took much longer for relief to flood through her, for a murmured prayer of thanks to pass her lips. She was alone in the dark. Alone. Safe.

The monkey still sat on the desk, watching Squirrel with implacable eyes. The moonlight that came through the window cut through the creature in dagger-sharp lines, revealing its true form from the waist down.

Squirrel glared at it. "What are you looking at?" She snapped. Her voice was shaking, despite her forced bravado.

The monkey leapt down from the desk and scrabbled across the deck. It perched on the bedpost, and looked down at Squirrel with concern in its simian eyes. Squirrel scowled at it.

"If you hadn't gotten Barbossa, this wouldn't have happened."

The monkey tilted his head at her, clearly unimpressed by her anger or her accusations.

"He left you, didn't he? To make sure I go to sleep?"

The monkey chattered and jumped up and down, by way of an affirmation.

"Well, he's bound for disappointment." Squirrel pushed herself up to a sitting position. "I'm not going to sleep," she told the monkey. "I'm not…" She yawned a long, drawn-out yawn, then continued, "Tired."

The monkey folded its arms and curled its tail around the post.

"'Sides," Squirrel said, looking at Barbossa's pillow, "It's too weird to sleep in someone else's bed. 'Specially…" She left the thought unspoken, but her mind finished it for her. _Especially a man's bed. Even an empty one_. She flushed, despite the fact she was alone. She looked up at the monkey, and tilted her head.

"I screwed up, didn't I." She looked down at her hands, not even waiting for an answer. "I _do_ have friends. But I can't talk to them. Because they wouldn't… understand… So I'm alone. But only…" She dropped her hands by her sides, and let them hid the mattress either side of her. "I wanted… to forget. I wanted to forget the… everything. Everything about him. Because he makes me so miserable." Her eyes misted, and went distant. "But I can't, can I? Because I… an' because I… an' 'cause he's… he's a bloody… a bloody… he's… a pirate."

The monkey climbed down onto Squirrel's shoulder, and stroked her hair, crooning faintly.

"Stupid…" Squirrel lay down, and curled up in the blankets which smelled of Hector Barbossa: salt, sea wind, and green apples, "… pirate…"

She could feel the monkey stroking her hair as she fell asleep, and could not help but be comforted.

**

* * *

A/N:** Reviews make me happy, suggestions get into the story, flames are laughed at. Responses are always nice! 


	20. Coming Storm

**Disclaimer**: Hang them all. Even the disclaimer.

**A/N**: You don't need to read this. Just read the story :) If there's a spoiler in here, its because you haven't been reading close enough. Nyeh.

* * *

Squirrel woke with a pounding headache, and a bitter taste in her mouth; the morning sunlight burned her eyes and the remainder of the nightmares gripped her tightly, choking her. She found herself tangled up in sweat-soaked sheets not her own, and - for a moment - could not remember where she was. Then she saw the monkey sitting on the pillow beside her head, and everything came back to her. The monkey peered at her, concerned. 

Squirrel smiled wearily at it. "Good morning."

"And good mornin' t' ye, angel."

Squirrel closed her eyes and winced at the sound of Barbossa's voice. "Not so loud, please." She gingerly sat up, pushing aside the blankets and sheets, and sat at the edge of the bed. She stared down at her shoes, her head hanging over her knees; her hair curtained off the rest of the world, blocking out the sunlight and narrowing her field of vision.

Barbossa's chuckle was softened somewhat. "Ye may have worked out a way t' hold your alcohol, which is somethin' few women ever truly master," he said, softly crossing the floor towards her, "But few have ever mastered escapin' the mornin' after." A flagon of something appeared between the curtains of Squirrel's hair. "Here. Drink this."

Squirrel accepted the drink, and sipped at it. "Tomato juice?" She looked up, then winced and lowered her head again. The light was far too bright this morning. She couldn't even look Barbossa in the eye.

"Aye." There was a smile to his voice. "It'll do ye good."

Squirrel did not argue, but drank down what she'd been given. As she slowly rose out of the fog of sleep, more and more things returned to her. Things about last night, things she'd done and said which she would rather prefer to forget.

The first thing that passed her lips was a sigh. The second, an apology.

"I'm sorry." She hung her head and turned the flagon between her hands. "For everything."

"Everything?" Barbossa sounded genuinely amused. "Ye can't take all the world's fault on your shoulders, angel. It'd kill ye."

Squirrel rested her head in one hand, and traced her eyes along the whorls of the planking at her feet. "I mean, about me. Drinking. Being drunk. I'm sorry." There was a pause, in which Barbossa seemed to weigh her words. Squirrel knew she could not leave it at that. Hector had asked for an explanation last night - Squirrel had to give one. "It's just…" She sighed and closed her eyes. "I should have known better. I grew up on Tortuga. I know what rum can do, how dangerous it is to drink. But… I thought… it was the only way for me to… to forget. And to keep the dreams away." She sipped at the tomato juice again, finishing off the flagon.

"Ye can't remember your name," Barbossa said evenly, "And ye've scant enough memories about your past. Why on earth would ye want t' forget anything more?"

"That's what Sam said," Squirrel murmured.

"Sam?"

Squirrel nodded. "He found me, in the hold, just before you caught me. Told me I was a fool." Her lips twisted. "I should have listened to him."

"Ye should have." Squirrel heard Barbossa move, perhaps to sit on the corner of his desk. His voice softened further as he said, "Memories aside, I can p'raps understand why ye'd want t' drink yerself into sleep." He paused. "They must have been very frightenin' nightmares."

"Not frightening, as such." Squirrel shook her head, setting the curtains of her hair swaying. "Just… confronting."

Barbossa said nothing for a long while. Then, softly, almost faintly, he said, "Ye were cryin'."

Squirrel wiped a hand across her face, thumbing the corners of her eyes surreptitiously. "Was I?"

"Aye." Barbossa said. "When I came in t' check on ye. But no tears."

Squirrel closed her hands around the flagon, then sighed again. "I keep seeing his face. That's all the nightmares are. Just watching his death, over and over again." _And feeling my heart shatter, again and again and again_.

"His, meaning Jack's, I suppose."

"Yes."

Barbossa sighed wearily. "Angel, why didn't ye tell anyone this? Why'd ye keep it t' yourself?"

Squirrel closed her eyes. "Because I want to be strong," she murmured. "I want to be stronger than I am."

"Sometimes," Barbossa said softly, "Ye have t' break to know how strong ye can be."

Squirrel gave a short laugh, but it soon turned into a sob. She felt the monkey climb up on her shoulder, and wrap its arms around her neck. It cooed into her ear, trying to reassure her. Squirrel brushed her fingers through its fur, silently thanking it.

"Ye've gotten as strong as ye can by yourself," Barbossa continued. "Now ye have to turn t' others. D'ye understand? There are just some things ye shouldn't try to deal with on your own."

Squirrel nodded. "I know." She shook her head wryly, still staring at the floor. "I could say that drinking was my way of dealing with it, but that would taste a lie. I wasn't 'dealing'. I was…" Squirrel remembered Tia's words. "Just… being. Just living. But what kind of life…?" Squirrel sipped again at the juice and sighed again. "What a fool I've been."

"Well, it's good you've finally woken up to yourself."

Squirrel lifted her head slightly, and focused on Barbossa's boots. "I wouldn't have been able to do it without you."

"See?" There was a bit of a wry smile in Barbossa's voice. "Some things ye can't do by yourself." There was a pause. "Now, angel… What are you going to do?"

"I have to tell the crew," Squirrel whispered, dreading it already. "I have to tell them what I've done. I have to let them know that I can't do this on my own."

"True enough." Barbossa seemed to be agreeing, but, at the same time, Squirrel sensed him waiting. Waiting for something more.

Squirrel sipped at the juice, then set the empty mug aside. "When we first met," she murmured, "We talked about cost." She lifted her face, squinting in the light until her eyes did not burn as much. "I have to pay, I know that. I have to accept the punishment you…" The words died on her lips.

She didn't even recognise the old scarred man who stood watching. His hair - remarkably thick and long, considering the man's age - was bound back in a blue bandana. His fingers were gnarled and knotted, calloused from work and scarred from fights; his hands were wrapped in tatters of leather and cloth. His face was a battlefield in which battles against disease and unhealthiness had been fought; a long thick scar crossed over the man's right eye, painfully obvious. The white shirt and brown pants he was wearing seemed to emphasis how thin he was, how worn down by time and hardship. The cloth of the vest he wore was fine, of high-quality, but was shabby and fraying. A yellow cloth was tied at his waist, the edges that hung down by his knees all tattered. Everything about the man spoke of the power time possessed, the power to wear down and age everything it touched. The only thing time had not taken or destroyed were the man's eyes: ice-blue and shining with mirth, patience, knowledge… and life itself.

It was surprising, almost shocking, to see Barbossa like this. Without his hat and coat, his pistols and sword, he seemed so tired. So small. So… old. It had never been so apparent to Squirrel before, but the captain was old. Very old. It was as though Barbossa had unmasked himself, revealing a side of him that he had wanted no-one else to see. And Squirrel felt very, very humbled.

Barbossa seemed very aware of Squirrel's shock, and he smiled sadly. "Not what ye expected, aye?"

Squirrel closed her mouth slowly, and sat up. "I didn't mean…"

"No." Barbossa turned to the desk, and picked up a handful of shine. "No need t' apologise." One by one, he slipped the rings on his fingers, twisting them around the gnarls of his knuckles to make them fit. "Ye've enough t' apologise about as it is." He slipped an amulet over his head. "Too much, one could say." His belts were next - one across his chest and one across his waist, over the yellow band. The pistols and sword were returned to their places. "Ye find fault with yourself when there's no fault t' be found. Ye take the world on your shoulders when ye should be grateful for what ye have." He slipped his arms through the sleeves of his coat, and adjusted its fall around his shoulders. "Ye don't need t' take the blame for everything, angel." He picked up his hat, and placed it squarely and carefully on his head. The monkey scrambled over, and perched on Barbossa's shoulder. The pirate scratched his pet under its chin, then looked to Squirrel. Barbossa smiled.

Squirrel was awed by the transformation. Here was the Hector Barbossa she knew - the pirate, the captain. She thought she'd known him, just from giving him a second chance. Yet she hadn't known him at all. To have seen behind his façade made Squirrel realise how unobservant she'd been. How self-absorbed.

And how that's what Barbossa was pointing out to her.

"Now." Barbossa's smile vanished, and he looked as though about to embark on something he did not find pleasant. He moved behind his desk, and motioned for Squirrel to rise and stand before him. Squirrel did so, feeling a sinking in her gut in addition to the rest of her hangover.

"Cost," Barbossa said, staring out the window. "The way one is measured. The worth or value of a word or a deed." He glanced at Squirrel. "The price one must pay for one's own actions."

Squirrel nodded, glumly, but did not duck her head or avoid Barbossa's eyes.

Barbossa sighed, then turned and faced Squirrel squarely. "I asked ye once whether ye felt truly guilty, or if ye just wanted to avoid the consequences. I don't think I need t' ask that now, judging from the look on your face."

"I did wrong," Squirrel said, surprised her voice wasn't shaking. "By you, by the crew, and by myself. I'll face the consequences. Though," she sighed, "I don't think I'll survive the flogging."

"Aye, twelve lashes for each offence."

"And I've been drunk for every day since the day before we reached Africa."

Barbossa looked surprised for a moment. "The day your hand was healed? Even then?"

"That was the first day."

Barbossa sighed wearily, and shook his head. "Angel…" He could find no words, so merely sighed again. Squirrel waited, patiently, for the inevitable. Barbossa looked up into Squirrel's eyes. "I run a tight ship," he said firmly, "P'raps even tighter than Sparrow ever did. I'm not a harsh man, but…" He put a hand on the hilt of his sword. "By all rights, I should have ye flogged and put at the next port."

Squirrel nodded. "I know."

"But I won't." Before Squirrel could even open her mouth, Barbossa continued in a hard tone of voice, "When we first met, ye said that ye were the lookout, cook and occasional quartermaster. In light of recent circumstances, I think that your duties should be…"

"Diminished?" Squirrel said, bracing herself. "Removed?"

Barbossa looked at her steadily. "Sustained."

Squirrel's jaw dropped.

Barbossa looked down at and rubbed a ring on his finger, a mark of a man well in command and aware of the attention of his audience. "Ye've gone to great pains to make yourself a more useful member of this crew, so I see no reason why ye shouldn't be a part of it. So, part of the crew ye'll stay. However…" He looked up, his eyes hard, but not harsh. "Your duties as quartermaster will only be called upon when we're in port. Ye've a good head for numbers, Miss Grey. There's no point in such a gift fusting in you unused." He smiled, and Squirrel found herself smiling back, appreciating the reference. "While I believe in fighting one's temptations," Barbossa continued, somewhat wryly, "That doesn't mean ye should put yourself in situations where there is no solution but to succumb to those desires. Your duties while at sea will have nothin' at all to do with the hold. Mister Cotton will be quartermaster during the voyage. I believe that was his role before the _Pearl_ sank." He paused, holding Squirrel's gaze with a little more force this time. "The crew will also be informed of your predisposition to drink. And ye'll be the one to tell them."

Squirrel was still almost unable to believe what she was hearing. "I'm… I'm not going to be flogged?"

"Such is beauty of grace, angel." Barbossa shrugged with one shoulder and offered a wry smile. "And why should I be the one t' punish ye? Ye're doin' enough of that yourself." His smile faded slightly. "Between the nightmares, the guilt, and the drinkin', ye've tortured yourself more than necessary for this voyage. Guilt is its own punishment."

Squirrel looked down at her shoes, then back again. "I suppose so."

Barbossa sighed and shook his head. "This over-lugubrious self-loathin' does nothin' for ye, angel. Ye're puttin' a burden on yourself that doesn't need t' be there. Ye've been suffering enough as it is." He paused a moment. "Drinkin' was your way to try and forget that, I suppose. A way to try to drown your sorrows."

She nodded slowly. "But sorrow knows how to swim," Squirrel murmured. "And better than anyone can."

There was a faint smile around his lips. "Aye," Barbossa nodded. "True enough. But there'll be no need t' scourge yourself any longer."

In the pause that followed in the wake of Barbossa's words, Squirrel found herself remembering all that had transpired up to this point. It was true - she _had_ been scourging herself. The guilt, the pain, the emptiness, had been overwhelming. She'd wanted to forget it, to block it out; she'd tried drinking, tried to smother the guilt, but it hadn't worked. All _that_ had done was make things worse. Sorrow could not be drowned. The only way to deal with this would be to face it. Guilt was just as much of a handicap as her inability to use a sword had been. And, as Barbossa had said earlier, the only way to deal with weaknesses was to make them strengths. She would not get strong by avoiding what she'd done.

However, while Barbossa may have decided to have Squirrel punished, Squirrel knew that she would have to answer for all her misdeeds one day. One day, there would be a punishment she would have to face.

But she would face it unimpaired, and stronger than she'd ever been.

Barbossa looked hard at Squirrel, his smile long gone. "Will we be havin' this discussion again, Miss Grey?"

Squirrel shook her head. "No. I…" She took a breath, and forced herself to meet Barbossa's eyes. "I can't promise I won't ever drink again…"

Barbossa raised an eyebrow, waiting.

Squirrel sighed, and added, "But I can promise that I won't get drunk."

Barbossa considered Squirrel's words a moment, then nodded and smiled. The smile warmed Squirrel through, and made the last of the shadows fly from her.

"Good t' hear it." He crossed around the desk, eliminating the barrier between them. "Now," he said, gently, "Ye'll have no duties today. Tonight, we round the Cape, so I need all hands rested and ready."

"I'll go sleep this hangover off, I suppose." Squirrel smiled up at the man.

Barbossa smiled back, fondly, and patted her shoulder. "Aye. Ye do that."

* * *

Squirrel and the rest of the crew stared out over the water, at the wall of clouds barking and snarling thunder and lightning across the waves. The _Diana_ lay still, unmoved by wind or current, her prow pointed south-east. The early evening light was slowly fading away, replaced by the distant lightning and the dull firefly-light of the lanterns. Squirrel - sober now - tightened her grip around the rope she was leaning on, waiting. Further down the railing, Will did the same; he glanced over at Squirrel, and nodded to her once. Squirrel smiled back, glad he'd forgiven her; glad he'd understood. 

All the crew had. They'd been surprised - alarmed, even - that Squirrel should have fallen so far, so deep, in so short a time. But they hadn't tried to dismiss it as mere girlish whim, or a foolish error. They'd rallied to her, wanting to help her and reassure her. Their company and understanding was more than enough for Squirrel. Sam had been among the crew in the galley when she broke the news. It hadn't bothered her - it still didn't. She found that, now, for some reason, she was glad of the Irishman's company, and his ever-present grin. His forgiveness had lessened the burden she carried, it seemed.

"Streenge how we should hit a calm right before Cape Horn," Sam muttered, standing at Squirrel's left. "En't natural."

Squirrel looked over at the Irishman. "Nothing about this journey is."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Would I be pryin' to ask a few questions of yeh, Jane? How, exactly, is this voyage unnatural? Is it India yeh're afeared of?"

Squirrel hid a smile as she looked back across the waves. "Now's probably not the right time, paddy."

"Not a problem, Cassie. I can wait."

"Gents!" Barbossa's voice carried across the deck, and all faces turned. Barbossa grinned, and motioned to Tia, Squirrel and Elizabeth, adding, "And ladies, of course. Are ye all prepared?"

Squirrel roared with the rest of the crew. "Aye, captain, aye!"

"Well, then!" Barbossa lifted his arms. "Let's get underway!" He turned to the swamp woman, who was standing beside him, and made a slight bow. "Tia Dalma?"

Tia laughed, throwing her head back. She lifted her arms over her head, held them a moment… then dropped them.

It was as though it was the signal that the storms had been waiting for. Squirrel only had time to glance over at Will with a raised eyebrow before the ship was rocked by a forceful wind. The crew all shouted in alarm as the caravel bucked and rolled in the now-writhing waves; one man was thrown from the port to the starboard side, and lay there, stunned, for a moment. Squirrel's eyes flicked out to the waves, and she froze in alarm.

The wall of thunderclouds were racing - racing! - across the water towards them; a herd of gigantic stampeding cattle.

"Oh, God preserve us," Sam murmured, head craned back and eyes wide, "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…"

"I will fear no evil." Squirrel added, trying to quash her own fear, "For thou art with me."

"Amen, and amen." Sam looked to her with his ever-ready smile before leaping up into the rigging. Squirrel clambered up after him, finding her balance as the ship rolled and reared. Rain stormed the caravel as the sheets were tightened and the ropes were hauled. Everyone was soaked to the skin in seconds. Thunder roared around and over them, and spears of lightning pierced the surface of the sea in blinding, searing flashes of white.

"All hands!" Barbossa called, somehow audible over even the chaos that surrounded the _Diana_. "Cape Horn bound!"

Tia Dalma lifted her face to the sheeting rain, closed her eyes, and silently laughed.


	21. Cape Horn

**Disclaimer**: Bloody Saint Mary! Disclaimer! I thought I'd never see you again!

**A/N**: Action sequences want my soul, I swear. And fluff wants to eat my brains with a runcible spoon. Anyhoo… enjoy.

* * *

It was the bloodiest tempest Squirrel had ever known. The rain fell like a sheet of frozen iron, and the wind beat at her like fists, trying to knock her from her perch. But she hung on, determined. The men below her hauled and heaved and shouted, washed by the storm and thrown by the ship; Squirrel kept silent, trying to hear the orders below over the screams and bellows of the thunder, the hissing of the waves and the rain. She had to move carefully in this storm - every time the ship moved, it took the masts and spars and rigging elsewhere. What might have been a safe place to stand one moment was nothing but thin air the next. 

_I'm glad I'm sober_, Squirrel thought, fighting with another slippery biting length of rope. _Sam was right - I'd have been killed by now: washed overboard and drowned_. Squirrel shivered, and not just from the temperature of the rain. She glanced down over the spar, and looked down to where Sam hauled on the fore-sheet ropes with Will and Gibbs.

A strike of lightning tore up the night, causing the sea to fizzle and boil where it had punched the waves. Squirrel shook herself, wiping her hair and the rain from her face, refusing to be distracted. She crawled over the length of the spar she sat on, slowly, making her way towards the mast. Rising shakily to her feet, she peered about the white-rained darkness, one hand resting against the mast for balance. She cast her eyes about, peering through the storm for loose lines, trying to hear the orders from below.

"Mainyard sheet!" Someone shouted, and Squirrel lifted her eyes. The mainsail was turning, loose in its moorings. A line had slipped from the tackle… in more than one place. If the sail turned any more, it would rip the mast clean off the ship. With the mainmast gone, the _Diana_ would founder, turn, and be lost. In addition to being taken off-course, the mast would most likely act as an anchor, and drag the ship under, or, at the very least, tear her in half.

The Cape was an unforgiving bitch of a passage.

Squirrel waited for the ship to lurch again, then leapt out into space. When the ship bucked back with the next wave, the mainsail spar swung out towards her. Squirrel reached out, caught the middle of it, pulled herself onto it with an 'oof!', and scrabbled to pull herself up onto the wildly-swinging spar. She had no time to gasp for breath - time was of the utmost importance here.

A thin bedraggled figure was climbing up the ratlines towards her - Squirrel almost didn't recognise Ragetti. But, given the circumstances, they both probably looked like drowned rats.

"You get the larboard!" She shouted at him. Ragetti nodded, and immediately climbed to the starboard: in the opposite direction. Squirrel sighed shortly, then climbed to port end of the mainsail-spar.

The sail billowed below them, blowing inside out. The ship groaned, coming to a standstill in the water, and the stern lifted high above the prow. The _Diana_'s figurehead vanished beneath the churning waves. Barbossa shouted and bellowed orders. The crew scrambled across the deck, washed by every wave and buffeted by every fist of wind. The prow lifted up out of the water, the ship buoyed by the waves. Squirrel hauled at the ropes, tightening the sail's moorings so that they - at the very least - were secure, before hooking her legs around the spar and swinging upside down in the rain.

The sea was sky and the sky was the sea, and everything churned into confusion. Someone below her shouted, probably in alarm. But Squirrel didn't heed them. Her necklace fell upwards and hit her in the chin, and her hair hung down towards the deck; Squirrel herself hung tight, watching the wildly spinning tackle and judging when it would next swing towards her.

Lightning split the sky and blew apart the sea with an explosion of sound and spray and light. The bright after-image rendered Squirrel practically blind. Judging only by what she knew, she lunged and reached out. Her fingers grabbed hold of the tackle, and clawed in, holding it tight. She heaved herself upright, and grabbed hold of the loose rope.

"Mainyard sheet!" She screamed, her high voice carrying over the storm.

Cotton, Pintel and Will stood below her, and caught the rope she dropped down to them. Squirrel threw the tackle back into space as they heaved at the rope. The spar turned on the mast, slowly, and gradually the sail returned to its proper place. The ship still groaned, though, as she was tossed and thrown by the horrendous thunderstorm. Squirrel wiped her hair from her face and looked for Ragetti. The one-eyed pirate was handling himself fine - he'd caught his tackle too, and was using his own weight to haul the rope down towards the deck. He was shouting for assistance as he swung loose in the rigging, and Elizabeth and Sam ran to him to bring him down safely, then the three of them set to work on securing the line.

A sudden gust of wind knocked Squirrel from her perch, and she cried out. She locked her legs around the spar out of instinct. She heard someone shout her name, but didn't know who. Gritting her teeth, she fought with the bucking spar and pulled herself back upright. She clung to the spar between her legs, and shook with the adrenaline in her veins. The ship below her continued to buck and roll and twist and dive through the waves, bucking enough to tear itself apart. The sea was nothing but mountains as far as the eye could see; lightning continued to strike ominously close to the ship, as though darts thrown by Zeus himself; the rain continued to sheet down like a hail of arrows. Cascades of sea-foam leapt up around the ship as the _Diana_, tiny in the vastness of the open sea, ploughed her way ever eastwards.

CRACK.

A bolt of lightning hit the foremast, the thunder seeming to come at exactly the same time that the light did. Squirrel tried to blink away the after-image of the bolt, but remained almost blind, her vision obscured by the white light. She could feel her hair rising, and the air was humming, and there was the smell of charred wood and hot metal. It was far too dangerous to be up here. This bolt of lightning had missed the mainmast - this time. Squirrel knew it was far too risky to remain here for much longer. She clambered down, out of the highest reaches of the mast, and scrambled through the rigging as Barbossa shouted over the tempest's roar.

Panting and taking a brief respite, Squirrel quickly made a count of the crew. They hadn't lost anyone yet, it seemed. But where was Tia Dalma? Peering through the rain and the fans of sea-foam, Squirrel searched for the dark-skinned sibyl.

She was standing at the prow, hands clawed into the rails, staring woodenly out to sea. Despite the ship's constant motion and the rain's harshness, Tia did not move. She stood, braced at the prow behind the figurehead, staring eastward. Squirrel felt a shiver go through her, and felt the same uneasiness she had felt the day she'd seen Tia pushing her open palms at the distant horizon.

"Who are you?" Squirrel whispered, staring down through the rigging at the woman.

The wind came once more in force. Even the hurricane off Tripoli had not been so brutal, surely! But then, they'd had a different ship, then, one designed for speed. The _Diana_ was a caravel built for lugging goods from port to port. The _Black Pearl_ was by far the superior ship in every way.

Squirrel felt slightly sick, all of a sudden. Could this ship even make it around the Cape? Or would they all die out here? Perched in the rigging of a ship that was tossed and flicked over every wave in the middle of the night and in the worst storm she'd ever known, Squirrel thought the situation seemed hopeless.

Lightning struck the sea again, and in the flash of light she spied Will. He stood braced firm in the middle of the deck, bellowing and throwing his arm to point at a distant rope. The crew scurried to obey him. Before the light died, Will craned his head back, and saw Squirrel watching him from the ropes.

His smile gave Squirrel courage.

The crew railed and fought for hours against the fury of the storm. Lines and stays slipped time and time again; waves near washed the crew overboard many, many times; everyone was exhausted. Throats were raw, eyes stung from the salt, muscles groaned from strain and hands bled from the ropes. Held at bay for weeks, the storms seemed to be exacting revenge against the ship that had avoided them for so long.

But the revenge would be short-lived: the clouds were slowly bleeding themselves dry.

"Land ho!" Someone bellowed, and the crew mustered a cheer. Squirrel lifted her head and squinted through the rain, tucking the wet ropes of her hair behind her ears. Was that the edge of Cape Horn off the port bow? She couldn't tell from here. She needed to get higher. Her only thought was on the possibility of escaping the storm, not on the storm itself. Once she reached the crow's nest, and felt the air humming around her, Squirrel remembered.

CRACK.

She leapt out of the way, just in time. The bolt had hit - and melted - the metal cap on the mast's pinnacle. Squirrel would have shared the punishment had she not jumped clear. She caught a wayward rope, and swung around to the mast. She leant against it, panting, trying to get her breath back. She was shivering, and the air around her continued to hum with a strange tension.

She heard Sam clearly from down below: "Bloody hell!"

At first, she thought something was wrong. Had she been hit? Squirrel dizzily checked herself. Aside from a strange tingling sensation at the back of her neck, she was alright. She put up a hand to scratch away the strange itch, and found herself staring. Her hand was glowing. Surprised, she jerked her hand away from her face, and the glow faded from her fingers. Yet the light remained. Slowly, so as not to fall from her perch, Squirrel turned on one foot to look behind her.

St Elmo's fire wreathed the mast, flickering in a strange voluminous cloud. It hummed and crackled, ebbing in its brightness as the storm raged on. Gingerly, Squirrel reached out to brush her hand through the light. The hairs on her arms rose up as a tongue of flame licked her. Curiously, though, Squirrel felt nothing but a strange tingling. There was no heat or pain to this fire. The flames shifted, moving, and enclosed Squirrel completely in a strange blue-green glow. The humming grew louder as the light passed over her.

In a moment, she impulsively stood and leant as far forward as she could, lifting her arms wide. The green-blue glow followed her, opening behind her like a cape, or a pair of wings. The heatless fire lingered on her for a moment, then slowly faded away into darkness as its blessing was expended. Squirrel dropped her arms and started to breathe again, awed by what had just occurred. St Elmo's fire.

"Bloody hell." Squirrel turned her head, and found Sam hanging from the rigging nearby. He was grinning and so was she, both of them wide-eyed and awed. "That was… amazin'," he breathed. "What did it feel like?"

Squirrel shrugged, unable to find the words. She looked down, and caught sight of several members of the crew staring up at her, distracted from their duties for a moment. Gibbs' awestruck face was one of them.

"We're not out of the storm yet, Sam," Squirrel looked back to the Irishman.

"Aye," Sam agreed, admiration and awe still sparkling in his eyes, "Still a way t' go yet." Lightning tore the sea, and the waves rolled high as mountains. The cold rain on Squirrel's face reminded her of where she was.

"Of course." She leapt up into the rigging and scrambled to the next loose stay.

Half a day later, when the _Diana_ rounded the Cape, it occurred to Squirrel that she had never been so glad to see the sun in her life.

* * *

Barbossa ordered every man to go below and rest. He himself would take first watch, and keep the ship on-course. No-one argued with him - everyone was too damn exhausted. Cape Horn had drained every bit of energy from every crew member. Everyone just wanted to sleep. 

But Squirrel tossed and turned, unable to find rest.

St Elmo's fire had wreathed the rigging - and Squirrel herself - during the storm. As Gibbs had murmured when the crew went below, "That's a sure sign of good luck, it is." The crew had all murmured agreement, and Squirrel knew that somehow she'd gained some manner of respect in their eyes, even the ones who thought women aboard bad luck.

But what good was luck where they were going?

Squirrel rolled over and faced the wall. She could hear the snores and mutterings of the crew behind her; she could hear Elizabeth's faint breathing in the bunk opposite. She could hear the ship's timbers groaning as the _Diana_ sailed through much calmer waters. She could hear… Squirrel sighed and rolled over. Sleep was not coming.

"This is the cost, then?" Squirrel murmured, staring out with tired eyes. "Insomnia?" She'd been drinking herself to sleep for too long that proper rest was denied her. She sighed again. She wasn't about to break her promise to Barbossa. So, she'd just have to find another way to get to sleep.

Perhaps the stars would help.

Squirrel crossed softly through the sleeping crew, and climbed out onto the deck. The night was clear and bright, and the southern stars shone brightly. The wind lifted Squirrel's hair, and she smiled, already feeling more at ease. She sat down on the edge of the stairs, and closed her eyes.

"_A stór mo chroí_," someone sang, his voice slow and gentle, "When the evening's mist over mountain and sea is falling… won't you turn away from the throng, and maybe you'll hear me calling."

Squirrel looked about the deck, but could see no-one. It seemed that the singer did not wish to be seen. Curiosity almost got the better of her, but Squirrel remained where she was, listening to the beautiful of the singer's voice. The song was so heartbreakingly-sad, and beautiful.

"For the sound of a voice that is surely missed, for somebody's quick returning. _A ruin_, _a ruin_, oh, won't you come back soon, to the one who will always love you." There was a sigh, and then silence for a moment. "_A stór mo chroí_," he sang, his voice a mere whisper, "When you're far away…"

Squirrel slowly stood up. Sam - turning around the mast from where he'd been leaning - lifted his head, eyes wide with alarm. "Squirrel! Miss Grey!" He seemed at a loss as what to say; he looked caught-out, almost, as though what he'd sung was not meant to have been heard. "I…"

Squirrel felt - and almost shared - his embarrassment. "Master Flynn…" She bit her lip. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, I'm sorry."

"S'alright." Sam shifted where he stood.

There was an awkward pause.

"You have a wonderful voice," Squirrel said. "I know I've said contrary many times, but…"

"Thankyeh." He mustered a feeble smile. "Yeh didn't find the song too… depressin'?"

"No. It was beautiful." She tilted her head, trying to find something to say to ease this strange - and sudden - tension. "What does '_a stór mo chroí_' mean?"

"Eeeh." Sam looked away, and scratched the back of his neck. "Nothin' important." He was embarrassed for a reason - a reason which was slowly becoming apparent to Squirrel.

"Is it… Irish?" She murmured, feeling colour tinge her face.

"Gaelic, aye." Sam looked sidelong at her, then faced her. "What are yeh doin' up at this time o' night anyways, Squirrel? Cap'n ordered yeh all t' get yeh rest."

"I couldn't sleep," she murmured, unable to take her eyes from Sam's. "I thought I'd get some air."

"Ah." He couldn't take his eyes from her either. "Any way I ken help?"

Squirrel smiled, faintly. "I don't think so."

"Ah." He shrugged, his smile strengthening but his embarrassment remaining. "Ah, well."

"Sam…" Squirrel took a breath, and discarded the question she was going to ask, in the favour of: "You said you asked the crew about me. About why I didn't want to sing."

Sam smiled faded slightly, as though he'd offended her. "Aye. I did."

"What else did you ask?"

The Irishman tilted his head. "I don't follow…"

"About the previous captain."

Sam's smile was gone now, nothing but a memory. "They wouldn't tell me his neeme. They told me he died, and that yeh loved him." He looked down. "That's all."

Squirrel sighed. "It's not that simple."

Sam's head snapped up. "Eh?"

"He's not dead." Squirrel's gut clenched, and some inner voice was telling her that she was a fool, that this was not a game she should be playing. But a larger part of her knew that this was the only compromise she could make with the Irishman. He deserved at least a grain of the truth.

"He's not?" Sam looked almost crestfallen. "Oh."

"If he was dead," Squirrel said slowly, "It wouldn't be this complicated." She closed her eyes and sighed. "But he isn't. So it is."

"I see." Sam scratched the back of his neck again. "So…" He looked up at her, almost pleading. "Do yeh still love him, then?"

"I…" Squirrel closed her eyes, then opened them again. "That's where it's complicated. I don't know, Sheem. I really don't know."

Sam smiled at her, but there was a sadness in his eyes. "Well," he said, sounding a little more sure of himself, "Maybe, once we reach Calcutta, yeh'll…"

"We're not going to Calcutta." The words were through her lips before she could stop them.

Sam frowned. "What?" He considered this a moment. "Well, where are yeh headed?"

Squirrel considered a moment. What kind of a destination was 'the ends of the earth'? And what questions would that prompt? 'How do you intend to get there?' Squirrel could almost imagine her own answer: 'Oh, we thought we'd just sail around in circles until we all go mad'. She could not sound so flippant, not now; not when Sam was looking at her so earnestly.

"Singapore." Squirrel said, slowly. "We're headed for Singapore."

"Ah." Sam's eyes darkened in understanding. "So that's where your man is, is he?" He sighed and looked out over the water. After a moment, he looked back to Squirrel. "Then I'm comin' wit' yeh."

Squirrel stared. "What? Why?"

"I'm comin' wit' yeh." Sam shrugged, smiling faintly. "I knoo the rest o' the lads are gettin' off in Calcutta, but I think I'll tag along fer a bit longer. An' as fer why…" His eyes went fathomless. "Yeh heard me sing. Why d'yeh think?"

Squirrel opened her mouth to rebut him, but she couldn't find the words. There was such an intensity and such a plea in Sam's eyes. She knew he could not - would not - be dissuaded.

He had the same look in his eyes that Squirrel had seen in her own, back when she'd been freed from Tortuga.

"You'll have to talk to Barbossa," Squirrel said eventually, giving in. "You'll have to ask him."

"O' course." Sam nodded. "But will yeh back me?"

Squirrel smiled, and half-turned away to look out over the water. "If I have to."

"Oh, well, don't goo feelin' all obligated, now." Sam laughed, and the tension between the two of them was erased. But it lingered, vestigial. There was no erasing this. No changing how - and what - the Irishman felt about her. "Seein' as how yeh think my voice a little more melodious now," Sam grinned, pushing his hair back out of his face, "I suppose yeh don't mind the fiddle either?"

Squirrel did not smile back. "Not tonight, paddy."

Sam sobered. "'Course."

Squirrel paused, then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Not tonight, but some other night. Sometime soon…" she smiled. "Play me something sweet, and sad, and something I've never heard before." She smiled, faintly. "I'd be happy to dance for you then."

Sam smiled, and hope sprung up anew in his eyes. "O' course, Miss Grey. I'd be honoured." He made a small bow. "G'night."

"Goodnight." Squirrel turned and went below, feeling Sam's eyes on her back every lingering step she took. She found her breath catching in her throat, and felt her gut rolling but - oddly - it didn't bother her. It just made her feel… confused.

As soon as she was below, Tia came out of the shadows and walked in step with Squirrel. The swamp woman held a flagon in each hand.

"Few men e'er see deh storm-lights," Tia murmured, "Let alone dance in them." She tilted her head at Squirrel. "Dat is deh firs' time yeh get your wings back, I t'ink, aye?"

Squirrel sighed. "Can't we ever have a normal conversation? Do you always have to be warning me about something I'm doing wrong?"

Tia shook her head, looking amused. "Dat weren't somet'in' like dat dis time, Miss Greeh. Dis time, is a compliment."

"Oh." Squirrel smiled foolishly. "My mistake."

Tia laughed, then peered curiously into Squirrel's eyes. "Can you fin' words to describe how deh flames felt?"

Squirrel thought back to the green-blue tongues of St Elmo's fire, smiled, and shook her head. "No. It was… incredible. But indescribable."

Tia smiled, as though that were the answer she'd expected. Then she paused, titling her head thoughtfully. "I were worried about you before, Miss Greeh. You were hurtin' yerself so badly." She smiled. "Wha's deh first t'ing yeh do when a snake bite you? You suck out deh poison."

Squirrel sighed. "That's what I've been doing. Or trying to do."

"How is drinkin' another kind of poison gon' cure yeh, Miss Greeh?" Tia tilted her head.

_Ah_. Squirrel's lips quirked. _So that's what we're talking about, are we?_

After a moment, Tia held out one of the flagons she held. "'Ere," she said. "Drink dis."

Squirrel shook her head. "I promised Barbossa…"

"Is tea." Tia proffered the flagon again. "It won' break your promise."

Squirrel relented, and took it. "What's it for?"

Tia's eyes were fathomless, even more so in the shadows and lantern-light. "To 'elp wid deh dreams."

"To help," Squirrel asked, eyebrow raised and smiling, "Or to hinder?"

Tia held up her own flagon in salute. "Bot'."

Squirrel smiled, and lifted her flagon. "Then here's to pirates."

Tia's eyes darkened. "To deh men dat steal our hearts." She drank from her flagon, but Squirrel did not move. Tia frowned, and took the flagon from her lips, waiting.

Squirrel stared off into the distance, remembering, then met Tia's eyes and smiled faintly. "Even though they don't deserve them," she whispered, and drank.

* * *

**A/N**: Insert usual plea for reviews here. 


	22. A Time To Weep

**Disclaimer**: Take disclaimer back to Tortuga.

**A/N**: Short chappie, just closing off the whole 'travel to Singapore' bit.

* * *

She dreamt again that night. 

Blood and broken wood lay about the ship's damaged deck. The multicoloured snakes withdrew from the deck of the _Pearl_, wounded and slain.

"They'll be back, you know," a laconic voice said, from somewhere behind Squirrel.

"Of course," a second voice added, gentler. "You c-c-can't prevent that from h-happening."

Squirrel wiped her bloody dagger on the leg of her pants, then lifted her head and saw a dark-skinned woman juggling eggs, coming towards her.

"Tia Dalma," the first voice sneered.

"Anamaria," the second voice corrected softly.

The eggs sailed through the air, shattering and covering Squirrel in bitter-tasting blood. She slipped, and fell, just as she knew she would. She landed in the muddy water, then felt herself sink below the waves. Yet she did not panic or flail as she was dragged under. This was just a dream.

"Of _course_ it's just a dream."

"Please, have a l-little compassion."

"Compassion is for the weak."

"No. Without it, you're n-nothing but a t-t-tyrant."

Squirrel turned away from the dancers, the silver anchor, and the dark, all-encompassing depths of the ocean, to face the speakers. The one on the left - the first speaker - wore a long dark-blue coat, her hair back in a strict ponytail, and had her arms folded; she looked down at Squirrel with cold, dark eyes. The second speaker, standing on the right, wore a blue-grey cloak with the hood down; she was fingering a silver amulet, and smiled reassuringly at Squirrel.

The words '_who are you_' died on Squirrel's lips. She knew exactly who these women were.

"You think you know why you're here as well, I suppose?" The first woman looked down her nose at Squirrel, eyebrow raised disdainfully.

Squirrel shrugged. "Because I'm dreaming?" The first woman scoffed.

The second woman smiled, ignoring the first. "N-not really," she murmured. "It's more of a…" She paused, then sighed wearily, suddenly looking very tired. "It's you, you know. What you've said and d-done. What y-you've d-decided." She smiled faintly.

"But can you even keep your promise?" The first said, stoic and unmoving. The second shrugged, and looked away nervously.

Squirrel considered both women for a moment, looking from one to the other. The woman in the coat sneered silently, waiting and watchful; the woman in the coat looked out from under her hood, expectantly.

"Some things need to be reconciled," Squirrel murmured. "And this is just one of them."

Both women nodded - the first stiffly, impatiently; the second gladly, with a relieved smile.

"A balance."

Again, the two women nodded.

Squirrel frowned thoughtfully, tilting her head. "Between emotion and logic?" She looked from one woman to the other.

"About time." The first speaker muttered, and rolled her eyes to the heavens. The second speaker giggled faintly, then sobered.

"You've been one or the other f-for t-t-too long. It's not good to have been either of these extremes." The lips of the first speaker tightened, but the woman herself said nothing.

"Time to make a choice," Squirrel murmured, echoing the words from the dream long ago. She smiled lopsidedly. "Time to grow up, and be who I know I can be."

"Exactly."

"Y-yes."

"So…" Squirrel smiled wryly between the two women. "All this… everything I've done… everything that's happened to me… it hasn't been a waste of time?"

"Everything happens for a reason," both women said, then eyed each other, as though surprised that they should be agreeing on anything.

"And why should it have been a waste of time?" The first speaker added, putting both hands on her hips. "You think you haven't accomplished anything?" She cocked her head at Squirrel, waiting for an answer.

"I don't feel like I have." Squirrel admitted. "For the most part."

The woman in the cloak put a hand to her mouth, eyes wide with alarm. "Oh, don't say that! You know what you've become!"

Squirrel frowned. "Do I?"

"Stronger!" This time, the two women did not exchange glances. Their gazes - piercing and hard, or soft and warm - were turned to Squirrel alone.

Squirrel smiled. "Of course." She nodded, then laughed faintly. "Of course I am." She paused, and tilted her head. "But for good, or for ill?"

The second speaker spread her hands wide. "Y-you'll have to w-wait and see."

"Everything in it's time," the first speaker nodded stiffly, eyes softening a mere fraction.

Their two voices seemed to melt and merge; the women themselves faded like cannon-smoke. "It's out of our hands. Out of your hands… but it _is_ in someone's hands. Fear not."

Squirrel considered both women for a moment, then turned back to the dream. She sighed in and out, in and out, watching the bubbles of her breath rise to the ocean's surface. A familiar figure crossed the ocean's surface, towards her. Squirrel caught her breath, frozen by the old wounds. But she kept her gaze up, and waited to hear what he had to say.

"'Allo, luv."

Squirrel held his eyes for as long as she could, then lifted her head and rose out of the dream. Once reality was restored around her, Squirrel rose up off her bunk and went up on deck.

Something inside her was stony and hard. Why should this matter? She'd spent so long trying to get strong - why did this stupid dreams insist on reminding her how weak she was? How broken? She didn't need this. She could do this on her own.

Determined to push away her feelings, she lifted her hands to the sky and danced. Or, she tried to. It was as though she were weighed down by something. Her feet moved awkwardly, dragging along the planking. Her body moved awkwardly, and her arms felt too heavy even after a few moments. But Squirrel grit her teeth and kept shuffling and hobbling, trying to make herself dance.

Words and voices swirled around her. Barbossa: _There's no call t' make yerself suffer like this_. Tia: _You 'ave a mark about you, gherl_. Will: _Let me help_. Cotton's parrot: _Even keel!_ Anamaria: _You take care of yourself, you hear me?_ Norrington: _A woman of your quality_… Squirrel's own voice: _I'll always love him. Come hell or high water_.

She screwed her eyes shut and tried to put a little flourish into her dragging feet.

_Sometimes_, Barbossa said, his words clear over the babble, _Ye have t' break to know how strong ye can be_.

Squirrel fell to the deck, her attempted grace spent. Her knees hit the unfamiliar wood, and her body followed. Kneeling, she half-curled, hands to her face.

And for the first time in months, she allowed herself to cry.

The tears washed down her face to the rhythm of broken-hearted sobbing and near-screams. She rocked herself, hands clenching and unclenching, reaching for what she knew was no longer there. She knelt, a pitiable figure, crying and moaning and sobbing and screaming, her face wet and wretched. She cried until her eyes and throat were sore, but still she continued. She wept until she could not see, but still she continued. She sobbed until she could hardly breathe, but still she continued.

_Captain Jack Sparrow_…

It had been too long, too long. She'd carried this burden for too long. She'd cried while he lived because her heart was sore, but his death had turned her heart to stone. Stone sinks. Stone is a dead weight. Stone is the ballast no-one needs. The tears tonight did more than just clean her face - they washed away that stone coating, and freed her heart.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump_.

The sound of her own heartbeat - how long had it been since she was able to feel it! - made her lift her head, though she could see nothing through the rain. And raining it was - a warm rain, soft and gentle, was falling down on her, brushing the tears from her eyes. She hadn't noticed when it had started, but was glad for it. Slowly, on shaky limbs, she rose to her feet and moved to the railing. She put a hand to her heart, and felt it pulse under her fingers for the first time in over a month.

The sea frothed restlessly, and the rain fell in gentle caressing waves, soothing the sea. Squirrel sighed, closing her eyes, and lifted her face to the rain. She felt it on her skin and hair, felt it brushing her clothing. Gentle, calming, soothing… a balm to the months of hurt. She let the water wash her tears away, let the pain wash away.

_I cry for my heart, which always belonged to you. I cry for my heart, broken by you. I cry for you, Captain Jack Sparrow. The pirate - the man - who died. I cry for the man I loved. I cry for the love that died. I cry for the man who died._

_I cry for the dead_.

Slowly, Squirrel opened her eyes. The pain was gone. The pretence of strength she had maintained was shattered, but that didn't matter because now… now she was strong for real.

Jack hadn't loved her. And when he'd died, Squirrel had let the heartbreak twist and deform her. But that didn't matter now. Jack didn't love her. But hearts heal. Hate and anger were forgotten, left behind. There was just… relief. Peace. There was… freedom. Tears tracked down her face, salt and fresh water both, but she smiled.

She wasn't healed, not completely. But it was a start.

Squirrel curled and uncurled her hand on the railing, and smiled to herself. Then, she lifted her face to the sky.

"Alright," she murmured. "I'm listening."

* * *

When the dawn came, Squirrel heard Barbossa's steps behind her. She turned to face him, radiant for the first time in a month. 

"Good mornin'," Barbossa said, taking off his hat and making a bow. Squirrel curtsied in return. Barbossa considered her, head tilted, then narrowed his eyes. "Ye seem in better spirits this morning, angel."

Squirrel laughed, rubbing her bare arms in the cool of the morning. "Had a bit of a cry last night."

Barbossa's eyebrow raised in concern, then he smiled. "D'ye feel better, then?"

Squirrel nodded. "Yes. Yes. Much better." She turned and looked back over the water. "I feel like I'm seeing clearly since the first time in… months. Years." She sighed. "I've done so much I shouldn't have; I've made so many mistakes…"

"Yes," Barbossa interrupted gently, "Ye have. But ye're only human. And ye're young enough to undo what ye've done."

"I know." Squirrel sighed in the soft morning light, then turned to the man in black. "You said once that I should try to atone for what I've done. And I want to do that." She looked out over the water again. "But while I have your forgiveness… I don't have my own. Not yet."

"Not yet?" Barbossa's eyebrow quirked, and his blue eyes darkened slightly. "How so?"

Squirrel stared out over the water, stony for a moment. "There's still some people I need for forgive before I can forgive myself."

Barbossa nodded slowly, understanding. "Of course." He sighed, then chuckled. "I suppose I need to ask your forgiveness, then. For hittin' ye."

Squirrel frowned, recalled, then shook her head. "You had your reason, Hector. You were trying to help me. And you did. Between you, Sam, and the second quartermaster, you saved my life. There's no need to apologise for that."

Barbossa drummed his fingers on the railing. "Master Flynn," he murmured, "And the second quartermaster… are one and the same."

"I thought they might be," she smiled wryly.

Barbossa chuckled. "It's good t' see ye back, angel," he said. "Not only in better spirits, but with a bit of grit t' ye."

"I intend to make good what I've done," Squirrel shrugged. "It's going to cost, but I intend to pay every price. And that grit will help." An old feeling of melancholy lit on Squirrel for a moment. "But sometimes I wonder whether what I've done can't be undone."

"If that's the case," Barbossa smiled at her fondly, "Then you do your best to repair the damage. That's all that we can do, crawling between heaven and earth."

"That sounds familiar," Squirrel murmured, smiling faintly to herself.

He smiled back at her. "Don't worry, angel," Barbossa said, reassuringly, patting her arm, "I have faith in you."

Squirrel smiled, tears in her eyes. "And I have faith in myself for once. And in someone a little stronger." She laughed, wiping at her eyes. "And believe me, that feeling's a lot better than the bottle."

Barbossa chuckled in agreement. "Good to hear it." He paused, and looked out over the sunlit water. "For the most part, angel, things'll be a lot easier from here on in."

"Yes," Squirrel smiled faintly, lifting her face to the light. "I know."

**

* * *

A/N:** Yes, Squirrel talks to herself. But we knew that already :P 

I'd like to take this moment to thank everyone for reading so far, especially the reviewers. Story's been fun to write, and I'm glad you guys seem to like it! Now... enough Squirrel anecdotes! Lets get on to Singapore!


	23. It's Not The Heat

**Disclaimer**: Mari-kita rah yat Singapura, sama-sama menuju…

**A/N**: At last! They've made it to Singapore! Happy Chinese New Year, and welcome back to the story … oh, and here's a warning: some of you may suffer some major brain aneurysms due to this chapter. I make no apologies.

* * *

The air was thick and heavy, like a warm blanket. Only, this blanket filled the lungs and weighed on the skin with heat and moisture, and was in no way comforting. The humidity was so thick, one could practically carve chunks from it; it was so tangible, it was visible even in the pre-noon hours. The Caribbean was sultry at the worst of times - this place was practically a furnace. Squirrel regretted - not for the first time that morning - wearing her coat. Of course, the coat had been a necessity in the coolness of late evening, but now? Squirrel wiped her brow, waiting impatiently for her watch to end so she could go below, out of this damnable heat. Even the wind that blew Squirrel's hair forward past her face - the same wind that had brought them around the Cape - could not dissipate the thick viscous humidity. 

Cape Horn was little more than a memory; Africa, Madagascar, Arabia, and India had been all been visited, but the journey had not allowed them time to linger for very long. In every port or island they'd visited, beauty and richness coupled with harshness and the commonplace; the open sea had been their road on this incredible journey. There had been such wonders seen, so many sights and sounds and tastes and experiences beyond anything any of the crew had ever known.

Yet, for all this wonderment along the way, everyone seemed a little harder, a little more careworn. Everyone had new scars. Everyone had a burden in their eyes. Not that there wasn't hope, it was just that everyone seemed to be feeling the strain a little more with each day. There was an impatience in many; they just wanted to reach the journey's end, and have things back to the way they were. Or, if it were possible, made better.

Squirrel adjusted her seat on the yardarm, pulled at her shirt collar to try and relieve the stifling heat, and leaned against the mast.

On the horizon in every direction were dark shadows and shapes of islands. The Malacca Straits channelled their way through the East Indies, winding through the Indonesian Archipelago. Most of the islands were inhospitable or uninhabited. That being said, the lack of port cities did have its charm. There were plenty of places for the _Diana_ to moor and for the crew to go ashore; sitting around a roaring driftwood fire was something you could not do on a ship, as were midnight swimming lessons in secluded coves. In addition, the sheer number of islands kept the _Diana_ out of the East India Trading Company's eye. Barbossa seemed to know exactly which route to follow in order to slip through Beckett's net. The old captain's forward-planning had also ensured that every possibility was catered for: among other things, sandalwood from Arabia and spices and tea from India filled much of the _Diana_'s hold. These trade goods would see the crew making a monetary profit once arriving in Singapore, if not establishing and holding up the cover story that they were merchant sailors. As of yet, such a disguise had not been tested. Their journey had been swift and uninterrupted, and they had passed through the Malacca Straits unseen and unhindered. It would not be long before they reached Singapore's ports.

Squirrel wiped her brow again. Not long now before her watch was ended, and then she could go below and get some water. She was thirsty, and soaked in sweat - this weather was impossible! She shook the collar of her shirt once again, trying to get some air to her skin, trying to cool herself down. It worked, but only briefly. With a sigh, Squirrel leant back against the mast, and pushed her hair fruitlessly out from her face once again. Even perched up above the sails - better to catch the breeze and to remain somewhat shaded - she was being driven mad by the heat.

"Good morning, Squirrel!"

Squirrel looked down over the sail, and saw Will hanging from one of the lines. He was smiling - grinning, almost - up at her.

"And good morning to you, Mister Turner." Squirrel adjusted her balance more evenly on the yardarm. "Coming up to join me?"

"If you don't mind the company." Will hauled himself up the rest of the length of the rope.

Squirrel glanced around the deck, taking note of all the crew. Elizabeth stood at the prow, eyes shaded, watching the shape of the islands pass by. Gibbs was at the helm, holding the course and scowling; Barbossa stood at Gibbs' side, giving orders which we clearly unappreciated but followed grudgingly enough. Pintel and Ragetti were swabbing the deck and muttering to each other; Marty and Cotton were below, as was Tia; and Sam… well, he was busy enough with the ropes.

Before Will reached the spar but was close enough to hear her, Squirrel murmured, "I thought we had a deal."

Will paused, and craned up to look at Squirrel. "I needed to talk to you," he said, a plea in his eyes and voice.

"That's probably not a good idea," Squirrel murmured urgently, looking nonchalantly out to sea. "Wait until tonight."

Will hauled himself onto the spar, leaping with an acrobatic flourish which brought a smile to Squirrel's lips. He had learned as much from her as she from him. Once he was seated, balanced on the yardarm, Will shifted to the right until he was sitting beside Squirrel, with only the mast between them. They sat in silence a moment, their heels tapped by the billowing canvas sail that stretched out along and below the spar they were sitting on. Will's eyes turned serious as he looked to her.

"Tonight will be too late," Will whispered, his voice soft and hoarse. "I wanted to see you."

Squirrel fought to keep a blank expression. "Well, you've seen me. Now what?"

Will frowned slightly. "Squirrel…"

Squirrel held up a hand to quiet him, and looked out over the water. "William, we had a deal. And I think it would be best - for us, for everyone, for our plan - if we honoured it." She gestured vaguely to Elizabeth. "You know how careful we have to be." She placed her hand back down, her fingers brushing Will's accidentally. She pulled back, startled and not wanting to cause offence, but Will didn't seem to have noticed. Squirrel placed her hand down carefully, keeping an inch between their fingers. Just in case.

"So there's nothing I can do to convince you to speak to me?"

Squirrel looked at him with one eye closed. "Unless you can change my mind, William, whatever you have to say will have to wait until tonight."

Will smiled, almost to himself, and brought a small bundle of cloth from his belt. "I had really hoped it wouldn't come to this." He slowly - teasingly, almost - unwrapped the bundle, and Squirrel, curious, watched. Her curiosity soon turned to glee.

"_Pada_!" In Calcutta, Squirrel had discovered these doughy, biscuit-like confections, along with several other Indian sweets. Unlike some of the more conservative members of the crew - Pintel and Gibbs, to mention two of them - Squirrel took to new flavours like a duck to water. And while she enjoyed the spiciness of curries and other strange dishes, it was always the sweeter foods she adored.

Will smiled. "I knew they were your favourite, so I bought extra when we were there."

Squirrel looked coolly at him, one eye closing again. "Shame on you, William Turner, to think that I could be bought so easily."

Will smiled placidly in return, broke one of the small doughy treats with his fingers, and held out the larger half to Squirrel. It was snatched from him immediately.

"Yes, shame on me," Will said dryly, and ate his half of the sweet with a little more decorum.

"It's a wonder how they never get stale," Squirrel murmured, licking the last crumbs from her fingers. She glanced at Will, and saw him smiling, amused and patient, as he folded the bundle away. She huffed, fighting with a grin. "Alright, you've got my attention, Mister Turner. What was it you wanted to talk about?"

Will's smile vanished, and he looked out over the water, over the shadows of the islands. "I heard Barbossa say that we'll be in Singapore by nightfall."

"Ah." Squirrel's smile likewise dropped. "So that's why you couldn't wait."

"I know we already discussed it," Will said, looking stonily over the sunlit waters. "I know it's all laid out. But I still feel uneasy." He pushed his hair of his face, and set his hand down. By some strange accident, his hand brushed Squirrel's; he moved it quickly.

Squirrel's own hair was wild over her right shoulder, billowing like a wild tangled shawl in the wind that pushed them eastwards. She pushed a handful of it out from her face. "You're not the only one," she said, in a low tone.

"You seem remarkably at-ease," Will tilted his head curiously.

"Believe me, I'm not." Squirrel frowned at the mottled horizon. "Treachery's never been something I've been good at."

"And I may have a pirate's blood in me," Will added in the same tone, "But I still find it hard to even fathom this…"

Squirrel turned her head at the same time Will did, and the two of them stared into each other's eyes.

"I'm not backing down."

"Neither am I. I made a promise, and I intend to keep it."

"As do I."

There was a pause, then Squirrel looked away. "That's why I said we should only speak about this after dark, William." Her voice was low. "Daylight is no time to be discussing mutiny."

Will turned back to the horizon, and sighed. "I know. I'm just…" He shrugged slightly. "Doubts and second thoughts, I suppose." He leant back against the mast. "I just needed some reassurance."

"Set your mind at ease, William," Squirrel said expansively. "Once we're in Singapore, all events will play themselves out to their logical conclusion. Once we have the _Pearl_, all will be well."

Will's lips quirked. "God willing."

"Indeed." She paused a moment, looking at Will from out of the corner of her eye. "That colour looks good on you."

Will brushed the collar of his shirt with his fingers, then smiled warmly at Squirrel. "And I've you to thank for that. Once again."

Christmas had been brief, but not neglected. There had carols sung, the nativity story read from the Holy Book, feasting, and presents exchanged. Squirrel's gift to Will had been a dark red shirt - there were stories enough of captains who wore red so that their crew would not be demoralised when the captain received a wound or two; blood was near invisible when on a red cloth. Will's gift to Squirrel had been a long blue sash - the blue being her favourite colour - made from damasked Turkish cotton. Squirrel wore it around her waist, under her belt, the long end of it hanging down behind her like a tail. She received no end of teasing about that fact, but she bore it well enough. It was good-natured teasing, after all, and the fact that the sash was a gift from Will was enough of a reason, besides.

Will's slowly darkening gaze brought Squirrel back to the present. "Have you decided which of the crew we'll keep?"

"Not yet," Squirrel admitted with a shrug. "Feelings change so often. It's hard to know who we can trust."

"We could bring the Irishman."

There was a slyness to Will's voice that Squirrel could not ignore. She looked sharply at him. "Sam? Why him?"

Will looked down from the heights, to the deck below. Squirrel followed his gaze. The Irishman was singing as he worked on his chores, hauling on the ropes in time with his song; he sang with his eyes closed, the rest of the world abandoned.

Squirrel lifted her eyes, and found Will smiling at her. "Well," she said, pushing her hair back once more and looking out to sea, "He may be useful, I suppose."

Will shrugged, as though it were no matter. "I'm surprised Barbossa kept him on." Will's smile flickered again. "And I'm surprised you didn't put up more of an objection."

"I've already explained what happened," Squirrel said coolly. "I'm not going to repeat myself."

Will's smile didn't fade. "I didn't mean to offend. I was just pointing out how… attached… he seems to be."

"To me, you mean?" Squirrel said flatly.

"We could use that." Will looked down to the deck, eyes dark. "We might need him."

For a moment, Squirrel opened her mouth to give an angry retort, then paused. It was true - they'd need at least six men to crew the _Pearl_, and then enough fighting men to give Davy Jones and Beckett a bit of a slap while they stole the heart. Sam might be willing to follow such a course - he'd made it clear enough that he was willing to follow Squirrel anywhere. Even to death's door, if need be.

Treachery would see Will and Squirrel very short on friends. If Gibbs and the others would rather follow a rum-soaked fool than William, then they'd need all the allies they could find.

"True enough." Squirrel admitted. "But, of course, we'll have to wait 'til the time comes."

Will moved in place, and his fingers brushed the back of Squirrel's hand briefly. "When we'll all know what we have to do."

Squirrel did not flinch or colour at Will's touch. "Even so." She pulled at her shirt collar again and wiped her brow.

"Why are you wearing that?" Will asked. He fingered the embroidered sleeves of her coat. "Isn't it too hot?"

"I'm dying," Squirrel muttered, "But it's my coat." The blue material of Squirrel's coat was stitched - in a similar fashion to her shirt - in certain places with patterns white thread. She'd had time enough on the journey here, and every stitch was both a story and a reminder of something she didn't want to forget. Ninety-eight lines - ninety-eight men.

Will chuckled. "You think someone's going to steal it if you don't wear it?"

"No," Squirrel said, stubbornly. "But it's mine."

Will leaned up against the mast and laughed softly. After a moment, Squirrel laughed with him. As if summoned by the sound, Tia rose up from deck; she did not even shade her eyes against the sun when she looked up to the mainmast, and at the two figures perched there. Squirrel's smile died at the look on Tia's face.

Somewhere between Arabia and the west coast of India - a week after Squirrel had danced to the sad, sweet song of Sam's violin - a game of Liar's Dice had somehow prompted Tia to lose her temper. Squirrel had been playing against Pintel, Ragetti, and Sam, but Will sat down beside Squirrel to offer his support and an extra voice in the conversation. Tia had almost physically pulled Squirrel out of the galley in order to hiss a string of strange warnings and riddles in the shadows. Squirrel had stood stoic and unmoved until Tia had said:

_If is trut' you wan', den you bedder learn t' face it! I speak in riddles because I knoo you can ken dem if you try! But enough is enough, Miss Greeh! Mistah Tur-nah 'as a dehstiny dat you 'ave no part of!_

_Mistah Tur-nah 'as a dehstiny_, Squirrel had snapped in return, losing her temper and mocking Tia's accent, _But so do I! And you have no right to interfere, in my life or in his!_

Tia's eyes had flared dangerously, but the woman herself went as still and as cold as the ocean before a storm. _So be it. Let deh coin lan' on is edge. Deh time will come when you'll wish you'd lissen'd t' me_. She turned away, but offered back over her shoulder, _My regards to Mastah Flynn. An' 'is poor broken 'eart_. Squirrel had spat on the deck, turned her back on the witch, and returned to the game.

As the journey had continued, Tia seemed to have forgotten her outburst. Her mood changed with the tide; or, perhaps it was that now her warning was delivered, she saw no more need to get involved. Whatever the case, Squirrel remained just as wary of the woman as ever. Maybe even more so.

"What's wrong?" Will asked. He looked down to the deck, and watched Tia.

"It's nothing," Squirrel said carefully, lifting her eyes from the deck. She paused a moment, watching the ocean, then looked to the man sitting beside her. "William," she asked, offhandedly, "What do you think it means when a coin lands on its edge?"

"Is it one of her riddles?" Will asked, lifting his gaze.

"Aye," Squirrel swung her legs, her heels hitting the sail; she kept her tone light and unconcerned. "She set it to me a while ago. I've still not found an answer."

Will frowned thoughtfully, looking out at the sky. "Hrm. What was she talking about, at the time?"

Squirrel stopped kicking. "Me. You." She gently brushed his hand with the tips of her fingers, unintentionally. "Us."

Will nodded, thoughtfully, but there was muted alarm in his eyes. "Does she know?"

Squirrel shrugged. "I think she suspects. But she's more concerned about your destiny, Mistah Tur-nah." Squirrel allowed herself a short scoff. "She's so wrapped up in the 'mystery of the future' she doesn't see anything else."

Will frowned, then shrugged the concern off. "We can only hope she doesn't find out."

"Aye. We can only hope. _And_ be very careful."

"A coin on its edge." Will tilted his head at the horizon. "You make decisions based on the flip of a coin, don't you?"

"I don't."

"Well, some people do." He looked to Squirrel. "Perhaps when a coin lands on its edge, a compromise has to be reached."

Squirrel shook her head. "It's not possible for a coin to land on its edge, Will."

"Not possible?" Will smiled fondly at her. "Or simply not probable?"

Squirrel pulled a face. "I've never, ever seen it happen."

Will shrugged. "Doesn't mean that it hasn't. Or it won't again."

Squirrel fought with a smile. "Alright then. So, when the impossible happens, then I'll have to make some sort of compromise?" She couldn't help but sound mocking. The answer to Tia's riddle was another riddle - how appropriate. And annoying.

"Or," Will paused, thinking, "Perhaps it means… Neither heads or tails?"

"I don't think she'd be so literal," Squirrel pushed her hair out of her face for the umpteenth time. "This is Tia Dalma, remember?"

"Mmm." Will sighed. "Well, that's my two cents. What have you come up with?"

Squirrel sighed wearily. "The same as you, William." She paused, looking out at the islands on the horizon. Her fingers tapped the stone diamonds at her throat, a faint echo of the gesture now as abandoned as the amulet. An idea slowly stirred in her mind. "Perhaps," Squirrel murmured, "It'll mean that one day, I'll have to make a decision, but there'll be nothing to help me make it."

"That's foolish," Will murmured.

"Exceedingly."

Will reached up, brushing his hair from his face, and set his hand down back on the yardarm. But his hand closed over Squirrel's. This time, there was no mistaking it. Both Will and Squirrel sat awkwardly a moment, neither knowing what to say.

Then Squirrel smiled. She gingerly took her hand back from Will, and murmured warningly, teasingly, "It's daylight, remember? We had a deal."

"Of course. My apologies." He looked out to sea, well-aware he still had Squirrel's gaze on him.

The bell rang, three clear notes.

Squirrel shrugged to herself. "End of my watch."

"And the start of mine," Will added, leaning back against the mast.

Squirrel did not need to say farewell, because it was not goodbye between the two of them. She did smile, though, and make a short salute before taking hold of a rope and swinging down into space.


	24. Singapore

**Disclaimer**: Gong xi, gong xi, gong xi ni! Xin nian kuai le!

**A/N**: Yee! Some foreshadowing, and possible spoilers. But no subtitles until the bottom of the page :P

* * *

The crew all gathered at the railing as the _Diana_ nosed her way into Singapore's harbour. Squirrel marvelled at the ships that were already moored along the docks. The sails of these strange Asian ships were bright orange, and ribbed like fins, and they looked so bright and beautiful in the sunset's light. The ships themselves were small, and light-looking; no doubt they were fast out on the open water. The _Diana_'s sleek shape looked large and cumbersome beside them. Squirrel felt a strange desire to know exactly how it would feel aboard one of those beautifully delicate-looking ships; this wish was followed by a quaint feeling that maybe, one day, she would. 

"_Pulau Ujong_," Barbossa said, staring out at the port as they approached, "Singapore."

The crew remained silent and watchful, taking in everything with their eyes. Paper lanterns cast beautiful soft light over the buildings and docks. Sounds travelled over the water: of music played at the taverns, of shouting fishermen unloading the last of the day's catch, of market vendors hawking their wares, of people going about their daily chores. Smells of spices and fish, burning incense and paper, and other unidentifiable things carried to the ship as the _Diana_ veered her way through the moored Asian vessels to the dockside. The caravel's arrival was attracting a lot of attention. Women dressed in bright colours were already gathering at the piers, calling out in high voices. Men, women and children in plainer clothes watched silently, curiously. A few older denizens made warding signs with their hands and scuttled off into town as quickly as they could. Beyond the town and other structures, the jungle loomed, dark and tall and lush and filled with bird and animal calls.

It was like any other port seen on the journey here. But yet, it was so, so different. Squirrel smiled, itching to start her explorations.

Will's hand tightened around the railing, and he glanced at Squirrel. "Where's the _Black Pearl_?" He mouthed, his eyes dark. Squirrel's smile faded, and she shrugged in return. In glancing to Will, Squirrel found herself looking back. Sam stood at the helm, piloting the _Diana_ through the harbour. His smile and wink brought the smile back to Squirrel's face.

"Once we're moored," Barbossa called, dragging everyone's attention away from the shore, "First thing we need to do is find an inn, somewhere we can stay a few days. We'll need t' get our bearin's before we start."

"Start what?" Elizabeth frowned. "We're here now."

Tia stepped out of the shadows. "Jus' because we've reached Singapore don' mean our search is at an' en', Miss Swann. No," she emphasised her words with a shake of the head, "Singapore is jus' deh beginnin'."

Squirrel and Will exchanged brief glances.

Barbossa nodded in agreement with Tia. "Fact o' the matter is this: we're here because we need a certain somethin' from the pirates here."

"What is it, exactly," Will frowned, folding his arms, "That we're here for?"

"Charts," Tia answered. "Charts dat will lead us to where deh Jack be waitin'."

"Aye," Barbossa nodded. "And, perhaps even a guide, should it come to that."

"But you said you knew the waters," Will said, accusingly. "You said you knew where we were going."

Barbossa smiled benignly at Will.

"And you said," Will continued, his anger rising, "That we were coming to Singapore. You said nothing about…"

"Will…" Elizabeth put her hand on Will's arm. "Please."

Will looked to Elizabeth, and deflated, his anger spent. Squirrel turned her head away.

"As I said earlier," Barbossa continued, "The island is ruled by a woman. She controls all comin's and goin's from Singapore, and every pirate in this port is under her command."

"A pirate queen," Squirrel murmured thoughtfully.

Tia nodded to Squirrel. "Almost, Miss Greeh. Dey call 'er deh Dragon Lady. It is frum 'er dat we need deh charts." She held up a warning finger. "But dat's not all." She smiled inkily, surveying everyone in turn. "She know dat we comin'."

The crew all exchanged glances, confused or concerned. Squirrel folded her arms, trying not to look sceptical.

Barbossa continued, "In order to get to the Dragon Lady, and convince her to trade us the charts, we may come across Sao Feng."

Squirrel felt a strange shiver up her spine at that name, and her head throbbed slightly. She masked her wince as a confused grimace and asked in time with Ragetti and Marty, "Who?"

"Sao Feng," Barbossa said again, and again Squirrel's head inexplicably pained her. "The most fearsome pirate in all the East Indies. In this half of the globe, even." His blue eyes were stony and serious. "He won't hesitate t' kill any of ye, should the whim ever take him. He is not a man t' be trifled with - it's best if we can stay out of his way, for the most part. I don't think I need t' warn ye that, if he should cross your path, ye'd best run in the opposite direction." Barbossa looked out over the water, then up at the darkening sky. "If we can't find a place a-shore tonight, then we'll spend the night on the ship. Then, come mornin', we'll start our search."

Sam called out from the helm that they were practically at the docks, and Barbossa barked his orders: weigh anchor, crow the canvas, make fast all lines. The crew all hurried to obey. A bundle of fur scrambled about the rigging, chattering. Barbossa waved to it, and the monkey was lost to sight. It would stay to guard the ship. While the crew moved about their tasks, Squirrel turned back to the railing, and looked out at the town. She heard light footsteps behind her, and closed one eye.

"It looks beautiful, doesn't it?" Elizabeth asked gently.

"Yes," Squirrel smiled in agreement, one eye still closed, "It does. It's a shame we won't be able to see it until morning." The two women watched silently as the _Diana_ pulled up to one of the ramshackle piers. A handful of Chinese men were on the wharf, watching and waiting for the ship to come in. Cotton threw them one of the mooring lines, and the men took it without hesitation.

"What do you think we'll find?" Elizabeth mused, as the _Diana_ came to a stop.

"Nothing we've ever seen before," Squirrel shrugged, lifting herself away from the railing and tightening the gauntlets around her wrists. Made from the same cloth as the sash she'd been given by Will, these bindings served more decorative purposes than actual protection.

Elizabeth looked amused. "That's what you've said about every port we've been to."

Squirrel smiled back. "Well, Lizzie, hasn't it been the truth?" Elizabeth shook her head, smiling, then looked out over the water. Squirrel did the same, only barely masking a scowl. She may have promised Will she wouldn't antagonise Elizabeth, but it was very, very hard to maintain a friendly façade. The journey had worn Squirrel's patience to a thread. A thread thinner than the one Will wore around his neck, from which his and Elizabeth's wedding rings hung.

"Oh, sailor-man!" A gaggle of brightly-dressed women with porcelain faces were clustering on the pier, giggling and calling out. "Sailor-man!" Marty wolf-whistled across the water, and the girls fell about themselves, laughing and fanning themselves flirtatiously. But their motions were calculated, mercenary.

"Urgh," Squirrel rolled her eyes. "Spare me."

Elizabeth's face was likewise disapproving. "It's unfortunate that some women have no pride in their choice of occupation."

"Or no choice at all," Squirrel corrected darkly.

Elizabeth frowned slightly. "You had a choice."

Squirrel lowered her head, and strands of hair fell forward to mask her. "Only because I was too afraid. My life was terrible, but it was better than the lives of many of the whores on Tortuga. But I'm sure my uncle would have decided I could make more money for him in a different manner, if I'd stayed any longer." Elizabeth fell silent, dropping the subject; Squirrel was glad. She didn't like to dwell on the more unpleasant aspects of her past; what person ever does?

"All ashore!" The gangplank was lowered.

"Come on," Squirrel opened her eye, and turned away from the railing, "Let's see what Singapore has to offer."

The handful of men on the docks who had helped moor the _Diana_ bowed deeply as Barbossa led the crew down the gangplank. The whores giggled and waited at a distance.

"Welcome," one of the men said, in stilted English. He tilted his head thoughtfully, looking at every face in turn, then turned back to his friends. "_San nu ren, quan ma fan_. _Wen shen men, guai lo men_."1 He said it politely enough, but one or two of his friends smirked.

Squirrel narrowed her eyes.

Barbossa also seemed less than impressed, though his manner was most likely affected in order to impress upon the men that he was the one in charge. "We're lookin' for a tavern, or an inn. Somewhere t' spend the night. Can ye help us?"

The man who had spoken shrugged with open palms. "No speak," he murmured, apologetically. "I sorry."

Barbossa tried again. "Beds? Sleep?"

The leader shrugged, then suggested, "_Ni men shi bai chyr_."2 This time, the bunch of men broke into guffaws. Barbossa's brow furrowed, but he said nothing. He didn't know what had been said.

But Squirrel did. That shell-headed member of Davy Jones' crew said that same thing when he stole the dead man's chest. "Oi, you."

The leader of the men turned his eyes lazily to Squirrel, still grinning.

"_Lu dian zhai nar_?"3

Their laughter died very quickly.

"_Lu dian zhai nar_?" Squirrel asked again. Then she waited, eyebrow raised, for an answer. Behind her, she could hear her friends going strangely silent. The men in front of her were doing the same thing. "_Wo men pi fa_."4 Squirrel folded her arms. "_Wo men hai dao. Wei ren gong jing_."5 She smirked. "_Yiran, ni ji dao yan Ying yu. Wo ming ji_."6

The leader looked at Squirrel long and hard, as though weighing his options, then reluctantly nodded, humiliated. "My apologies," he said softly, bobbing his head in a bow to her. "I did not mean to offend." He pointed towards the town. "You will find an inn a few streets in that direction. The Lantern Tavern caters to foreigners like yourselves. I am sure you will be well looked-after there." The man glanced at Squirrel, brow furrowed. Squirrel smiled pleasantly in return.

Barbossa had barely quirked an eyebrow during this entire exchange. "Thankye," He said to the man, then strode off in the indicated direction, the crew trailing after him. The whores at the end of the dock called out, but one glower from Barbossa was enough to quiet them and send them back into the shadows.

Squirrel smiled at the leader of the Chinese dockworkers as she passed him, and bobbed her head. "_Wan an_."7

The handful of men said nothing until Squirrel had turned her back to them, then burst into a flurry of hisses and muttered conversation amongst themselves. It brought a smile to Squirrel's face.

"Funny," Barbossa said dryly. "I seem t' recall ye sayin' that none of us knew the language, angel." He glanced at Squirrel. "Ye could have told us ye could speak Chinese. Would have been a load off of me mind."

Her smile vanished. "What?"

Sam tilted his head at Squirrel, smiling. "It were a right sight, Lucy, let me tell yeh. The looks on their faces when yeh started talkin' to 'em in their own language. Shut 'em right up, it did."

"When did you learn?" Elizabeth asked, just as surprised as any of the others. "You speak it so fluently."

Squirrel stopped walking and blinked a few times. "I…."

Tia stopped next to Squirrel and waved the others on. "Come, come, is late. Let us fin' deh inn and we can all get some res' tonight." Tia waited until Barbossa had lead the crew forward a short way, out of ear-shot, then turned to Squirrel with a knowing expression in her dark eyes. "You stole somet'in' frum me, Miss Greeh."

Squirrel - bewildered enough as it was - could only stare in confusion.

Tia shook her head and sighed. "I 'ad 'oped I was wrong… or, at deh very least, you'd be hones' enough to admit it, given time. I'm a liddle disapoin'ed in you." But still, she was smiling, as though everything was going just the way she knew it would.

"What are you talking about?" Squirrel frowned.

"A small glass boddle," Tia held her finger and thumb as wide as they could go, "About dis big."

"What?" Now Squirrel remembered it - it had been forgotten on the journey here. The bottle of _shou_. "That thing?"

"So you did steal it." Tia folded her arms, then turned and started walking. Squirrel hurried after the woman.

"I didn't mean to," Squirrel said, by way of apology.

"So why did you?"

Squirrel frowned to herself. "I don't know." She looked at the woman, guilty now that she'd been found out. "I'll make it up to you. Somehow."

"Hmm." Tia looked at Squirrel lazily, cat-like. "You still 'ave deh boddle?"

Squirrel thought back, and nodded. "Yes." It was in her satchel, back on the ship.

"Good." Tia kept walking, her feet whispering across the cobblestones of Singapore's streets. "Den you can fill it wid somet'in' rarer dan what it contained. Den, I will consider your t'eft pey'd fer."

"Alright." Squirrel frowned. "Where am I going to find something rarer? What should I look for?"

Tia sighed, a weary mother at a child's bad behaviour. "Do you even knoo what was in deh boddle, Miss Greeh?"

Squirrel shrugged, and admitted, "No."

"Den why you drink it, den?"

Squirrel couldn't answer. She didn't have an answer to give. Besides, they'd caught up with the rest of the crew. No need for them to know what had transpired. But Squirrel did have time for one last question.

"How _do_ I know Chinese now?"

Tia's lazy glance was coupled with a knowing smile. And that was the only answer Squirrel got.

* * *

The Lantern Tavern was empty, but the innkeeper was more than happy to accommodate the eleven crewmen and women from the _Diana_… provided, he told them in smug broken English, that they paid the right price. Squirrel was pushed to the forefront, and swiftly negotiated until an agreeable arrangement was reached. Eight rooms - the entire upper floor of the inn - were rented, and meals were organised for all the crew. The Chinese couple running the inn were thrown by the fact that an _ang moh_ - a foreigner - and a woman too, could speak Chinese so fluently. The 'right price' of the rooms was lowered significantly as a result. 

_And to think_, Squirrel thought, as she surveyed the rooms their money had bought, _The only Chinese I used to know was a handful of cusswords_ _Matelot taught me_. Squirrel felt a pang of loss - he'd been a good friend to her when she'd first come on the _Pearl_. She hoped the Kraken had killed him quickly, and mercifully, and that wherever he was now, he was happy.

"I didn't know you spoke Chinese," Will murmured when Squirrel rejoined the crew downstairs in the inn's common room-cum-dining area.

Squirrel shrugged. "Neither did I."

"Must'a been the fire what done it, Anita," Sam suggested. When Will and Squirrel looked at him curiously, Sam smiled. "'And there appeared unto them tongues of fire'," he quoted, "'And they began to speak other tongues, as the Spirit gave them utterance'." He shrugged. "Acts chapter 2, verses three and four. I'm not quotin' it word-fer-word, but yeh get the idea."

"I don't follow you," Squirrel frowned.

"St Elmo's fire," Sam explained. "When we went 'roun' the Cape. Yeh were covered in it. Tongues of fire, Jenny."

"Aye, that's right!" Gibbs interjected, grinning; here was another ingredient in a story he looked forward to telling.

Squirrel pulled a face. "I hardly think that's the case, gents."

"Then how d'yeh explain it, then, Bianca?" Sam smiled at her.

Squirrel sighed. "I have no idea." What was she supposed to say?

"I think we should all take a moment to be thankful we've all gotten this far," Barbossa said, turning away from his conversation with Tia. Everyone exchanged glances, but there were very few smiles. If anyone was grateful, no-one showed it. Barbossa looked to Squirrel, and asked, "The rooms?"

"They're ready for us," Squirrel answered.

Barbossa nodded. "Right. Well, ladies and gents…" He surveyed the crew. "A few rules, just to ensure our collective safety while we stay here. Don't go anywhere alone. When ye go explorin', groups of two or four, so no-one is ever left alone. Don't attract undue attention. The Dragon Lady already knows we're here, but there's no point in antagonisin' her, or anyone who works for her. Don't get into any fights. We're not here for that." Barbossa sighed, and surveyed the other faces of the crew. "I think that should about do it." He smiled, though it was wasted on the ones who didn't trust him. "Get your rest. We start tomorrow."

* * *

1 Three women; nothing but trouble. Troublemakers, all of them: white devils/foreigners 

2 You're all idiots.

3 Where's the inn?

4 We're all tired.

5 We're pirates. Be polite.

6 Also, you speak English. I know full well.

7 Goodnight.

**A/N**: I apologise if my _Zhong yu_ isn't up to scratch. I haven't practiced my Chinese for a long time, so if Squirrel makes a grammatical error, blame it on me. Or the fact that we're both _ang moh_; whatever.


	25. A Warning

**Disclaimer**: When no-one is innocent, who writes the disclaimer?

**A/N**: Some (possible) spoilers in this, but mostly all of my own invention. Mostly, though, this chapter is chokkas full of culture. And flavours from Singapore. :)

* * *

Sam raked a hand through his hair and yawned as he came downstairs. He fixed Squirrel with a bleary eye. "I don' suppose yeh could have waited another hour?" 

Squirrel smiled at him. "In another hour, Sam, it would have been too hot outside. Besides, I want to see what's out there." She fastened the buttons of her embroidered shirt; the red leather belt that bristled with silver blades that lay across her chest was hidden as the shirt was buttoned up.

"So do I," Sam tightened the knot of the kerchief around his neck and rubbed an eye, "But not this bloody early." He looked back up the stairs. "Hurry up, you two! If I'm bein' tortured, yeh're comin' too!" Pintel and Ragetti shuffled down the stairs, looking more asleep than awake.

Squirrel smiled to herself. She'd woken early, intending to go out and explore Singapore during dawn's first light, while the evening's cool still lay on the land. However, Barbossa's rule about groups of two or four meant she couldn't go on her own. She'd intended to wake only Sam, but her method of waking him - by throwing rocks from the doorway at his sleeping form - had meant Sam woke with a yell, waking the other two pirates he shared the room with. She hadn't even hit him that hard, despite his complaints.

Sam looked sidelong at Squirrel, grinning. "The phrase 'bright-eyed and bushy-tailed' 'as a whole new meanin' fer yeh, don't it, Megan?"

"You already guessed that name," Squirrel said, looking between the door and her friends impatiently. But even she couldn't help but smile at Sam's jibe.

"Hrm, so I did." Sam frowned, then smiled again. "Must be runnin' out of names."

"And _still_ no sign of mine. Come on, let's go."

* * *

The crowd - even this early in the morning - was significant, and Squirrel and her friends had to push to get through many of the streets. Market stalls and shop-houses lined every street, with wares varying from fresh fish, vegetables and other produce, household items, clothes, rolls of silk, and good-luck charms all on display. Squirrel lingered at every stall and stared all around her, drinking in the culture. When the sun rose a little higher, the four _ang moh_ headed away from the markets, to the outer areas of the town. Here, the trees were thicker, and the business and noise of the town centre a little less noticeable. Old men sat at teahouses with games between them. While Sam, Pintel and Ragetti sat down and moaned about their aching feet, Squirrel eavesdropped on the games, trying to figure out how it was played. She watched as the old men's nimble fingers leapt over the clattering tiles, making patterns and collecting groups of tiles marked with similar markings. 

"_Mah-jong_," One of the old men grinned at her toothlessly. Squirrel smiled back, bobbing her head, and watched the game for a while longer. If there were rules to this game, she couldn't see them clearly. Something about the number of tiles, the value of the images on the tiles themselves? It was an interesting game to watch, and was probably even more interesting to play. There was a vendor on the other side of the square selling boxes of the tiles, and Squirrel made her first purchase for the day.

"Why," Sam asked, when Squirrel came up to them with the box in her arm, "On earth. Did yeh buy. That?"

Squirrel shrugged. "It'll be fun to learn how to play."

Sam rolled his eyes, and heaved himself to his feet. "Let's keep moving, shall we?" Pintel and Ragetti offered feeble groans and excuses about their fatigue. "Look," the Irishman said, barely batting an eyelid, "If we keep moving fast enough, Nicole here won't have time to buy anything else."

Squirrel smirked. "Is that a challenge, paddy?"

Sam took her by the arm and steered her onwards, and Pintel and Ragetti followed at their heels.

* * *

"Here, _a stór_, try this." 

Squirrel sipped at the drink Sam had bought. "Mm," she shook her head, "It tastes a bit… green." It was the only word she could think of to describe it. The juice was green in colour, but it also tasted that same way. Fresh, and plant-like. They'd watched the sugarcane being crushed, the juice pressed out right before their eyes. The drink was sweet, for sure. But it wasn't to Squirrel's taste. "You can keep it, paddy."

"Oh, aye?" Sam swigged at the sugarcane juice and grinned. "Would taste a bit better fermented, yeh think?"

Squirrel punched him in the arm and pulled a face. "Off with yeh, Sam." She pulled another roasted chestnut from the paper bag and peeled it apart. "Where should we go next?" She popped the hot floury bundle into her mouth and savoured the taste. The chestnuts were just as good here as anywhere else; perhaps even more so. Roasted in a wok full of charcoal pieces, the nuts seemed to have a deeper flavour.

Sam shrugged, sipping at the juice. "Oop t' yeh, I s'pose. Just as long as we avoid those wet-markets. Can't stand the smell o' fish, I can't."

"You there! Wait a moment!"

Squirrel and Sam looked back over their shoulders, alarmed. A thick-set man, red from the heat, was running through the crowd towards them. Pintel and Ragetti wisely hung back, pretending to browse through the market stalls so they would not be involved. The red-faced man did not see them, however; either that, or he thought that Squirrel and Sam were better to speak to. When he reached them, the man took a moment to catch his breath.

"English?" He asked desperately, looking from Sam to Squirrel and back again.

Sam and Squirrel exchanged glances. "Irish," Sam said with raised eyebrow.

"Caribbean," Squirrel added for herself.

"No, no…" The man waved his hands, still panting. "You speak English?"

"O' course," Sam said. "Why?"

The red-faced man looked like he was going to cry in relief. Instead, he took Sam's hand and gripped it in a vigorous handshake. "You have no idea how glad I am to hear the mother-tongue again, sir! I've been here for over a month in this god-forsaken place!"

"God forsakes no-one," Sam said, gingerly freeing his hand. "Let alone a place. Who are yeh, anyways?"

The man introduced himself. His name was Robert Hamilton, and he and his crew had arrived in Singapore a month ago on a small clipper, as emissaries for the East India Trading Company.

The belt of daggers hidden under Squirrel's shirt twitched involuntarily. Had Beckett's net closed around them already?

"But, alas," the man said, wringing his hands, "Our ship was stolen, and we've been stranded here ever since! And none of us can speak the language of these yellow dogs…"

"Watch your tongue," Squirrel said curtly. "These 'yellow dogs' rule the land you stand on."

Robert looked at Squirrel, annoyed that a woman should be interfering in politics, let alone a conversation. "Yes, well, that wouldn't be the case, Miss, if our business with the so-called Queen of Singapore had come through as planned. With our ship vanished from off the face of the earth, we had no proof we were who we said we were, and no way to get home." The man looked hopefully at Sam. "I don't suppose, sir, that your vessel still waits in the harbour?"

As the man had been blustering and explaining himself, Squirrel had had time to read him. And she was certain that no man this incompetent was working for the East India Trading Company. While he was obviously a trader, seeking a monopoly on an island as yet untouched by the Company, he wasn't in the employ of Beckett. Hamilton had obviously a very mercenary mind: when the inevitable happened and the Company came in, they'd have to negotiate with the merchant-master of the island. And who else would that be but the man who stood before them, panting and puffing in the Singapore heat? Squirrel inwardly sighed and rolled her eyes. Power and money. Greed, and greedy men.

Sam continued to smile, but his eyes were guarded. He'd come to the same conclusion. "Well, Mister Hamilton…"

"Captain Hamilton, if you please."

"Mister Hamilton," Sam repeated, making the man frown, "Yeh might want t' talk to our captain about that. I'm sure we'll be more'n willing t' ferry you an' your crew out of Singapore… for the right price, and once our business here is concluded. Yeh'll find 'im in the Lantern, if yeh can deign to walk that way, sir." The Irishman smiled patronisingly; Squirrel smothered her own smile. So this was the behaviour that saw him off the _Rugged Hermit_, and all the other ships he'd served on: subtle antagonism, and mirroring the behaviour of men who were asses and fools.

Hamilton frowned a moment longer, then reminded himself of how dire his circumstances were. Beggars could not afford to be choosers. He smiled pleasantly. "Of course." He shook Sam's hand again. "Thankyou, my friend. You've been most helpful."

"What happened to your ship?" Squirrel asked.

Hamilton's frown looked to crack his face. "Stolen by a bastard of a…" He paused and glanced around him, at the crowd that surged past with placid faces, then continued, "That bastard, Sao Feng, and added to his collection. And with the ship's hold filled with trade goods we planned to barter to the Queen of Singapore in exchange for a base for the Company, too." He paused a moment, then added, "If I didn't know any better, I would say that it was a deliberate act designed to prevent such a thing."

"What a horrible thought that is," Sam said pleasantly.

* * *

Hunger had eventually caused the four pirates to cease their explorations and take refuge in a teahouse. Squirrel had ordered several meat-filled buns called _pao_ to sate their hunger, seeing as it seemed the safest thing for the lads to eat. Squirrel watched other people curiously as she ate. The locals here ate rice and noodles and everything else with only two sticks! How deft and artful even children looked wielding these 'chopsticks' to eat their food! Watching a man nearby, Squirrel took careful note of how the implements were held and manipulated. It didn't seem to be too hard, once you thought about it. 

The sound of birdsong filled the air close by, and Squirrel turned. Across the street, old men sat, drank tea, and played Chinese checkers under what seemed to be an awning made from cages. Chairs and tables were set up under a wooden frame - four upright poles and a few cross-beams for a roof - from which was hung a collection of lacquered-wood cages, each containing a songbird. Squirrel rose to her feet, curious and delighted.

"Where are you off to now?" Pintel asked, in no hurry to move.

"I'll just be across the street," Squirrel said, pointing. "I won't be long."

"I should come with yeh," Sam said, half-rising. "Yeh knoo what Barbossa said."

"You'll still be able to see me," she reassured him, leaving her mah-jong tiles with her friends. "You lads stay and rest. I'll be back in a minute." She pushed through the late-morning crowd, crossing to the bird-cage square.

The birds seemed so small, and so plain. But from every one of them came beautiful cries and calls. Some of the birds were brightly coloured, but it was the small dun ones which seemed to sing the sweetest. Squirrel smiled to herself, and stood on tip-toes to look into each of the cages. One of the old men saw Squirrel admiring the birds, and pointed to a stall nearby. Squirrel bowed slightly, then went to examine the birds for sale.

"Hello girl!" The man serving greeted her with a smile. "You buy bird? Good song!"

Squirrel shook her head and smiled. "No, thankyou. I'm just looking."

"Buy bird!" The man picked up one of the cages on display, and held it out to her. The bird inside the cage fluttered wildly in alarm. Squirrel put her hands up, feeling a strange pang of remembrance. The bird in the cage was too small, too brown, too familiar… The man nodded, setting the bird in its cage down, then picked up an empty cage to proffer at her. "For you? For you?"

"No, thankyou!" Squirrel shook her head. "I have no interest in cages."

"Spoken like a woman who knows what true captivity is."

The voice behind Squirrel was so cold, so calculated. The bird vendor looked alarmed, then smiled and started calling out to anyone else; if anyone had asked, he hadn't seen Squirrel, and he certainly hadn't see the man who had spoken to her. Something about the voice - or the man who had spoken - had frightened the bird-vendor. Squirrel closed her hand around her dagger, and half-turned.

"I'm sorry," she said slowly, carefully, "I don't think we've been introduced."

The man smirked at her; he pulled on the thin rope of beard that grew from his chin. "We don't need to be introduced, _ang moh_.1 We already know who you are." He was flanked by three other men, all shirtless, all leering and smirking. The crowd that passed by averted their eyes - they saw nothing, they knew nothing…

Squirrel didn't lift her eyes from the man before her, but she quietly judged the distance between where she stood and the teahouse across the street. Would she be able to duck past the men and make a break for her friends? Unlikely, in this crowd. Would Sam be able to make it to her? Again, unlikely. Squirrel had to stall, and hope the others would notice in time.

"My hair's not red," she told the man, taking in the intricate details of his clothes and his armour. Clearly, this man was very important, or rich enough that he could afford to wear silks with gold thread. "It's more of a brown, really." He carried two axes at his belt. They didn't look like the kind of axes that hewed wood. More like limbs… and they looked well-used. Squirrel did not betray her thoughts.

The man smiled to himself, lowering his hands to rest on the weapons at his side, an axe for each hand. "You are not welcome here, _ang moh_. You and your friends." His eyes sparkled dangerously under the brim of his helmet.

Squirrel tilted her head, wanting more time to read this man's motives before she passed judgement about what she could get away with. "Have we done something wrong?"

The Chinese man smirked. "You and the other _guai lo__2_ are all fools. You have set foot in Singapore, knowing full-well that the Dragon Lady does not welcome intruders."

"And we are intruding, how?" Squirrel shrugged. "We're only here for a few days. Then we're leaving. We do not want any trouble between us."

"_Xin Fu, what are you waiting for?_" one of the flanking swordsmen muttered.

The man with the axes - Xin Fu - did not even deign to acknowledge his flunky. "You are here because you are thieves," he told Squirrel flatly, his eyes cold. "You seek to steal from the Dragon Lady. This, I cannot allow."

That was enough. Xin Fu was nothing more than a bully, and, therefore, a coward. He was threatening a woman, and had three other men at his back - safety in numbers - and was using the authority of another in order to bolster himself. He was nothing but talk. A bully and a coward. Bark loud enough, and show your teeth, and he'd back down.

"So, the Dragon Lady is not pleased by the fact that we are here?" Squirrel tilted her head, bluffing for all she was worth.

"Yes." The men behind Xin Fu slowly drew their weapons. "And when the Dragon Lady is not pleased… accidents happen."

Squirrel shook her head, amused. "_Ni juede wo hen ben ma_? 3" She laughed in his face. "I'm not afraid of you, Xin Fu. I was told I needed to fear Sao Feng… but I wasn't told anything about you." She smiled pleasantly. "You may think yourself a hero for threatening a woman, _sha gua__4_, but let me tell you something about Caribbean pirates." She showed her teeth, not quite in a smile. "The women fight too."

Xin Fu's eyes narrowed, and his lip curled in a snarl. "I will teach you respect, _huli jing_5."

Squirrel lifted both hands lazily, as though in surrender… but her dagger was gripped tight in her left hand. "I have respect for the Dragon Lady," she said calmly, edging sideways slightly, getting ready to run, "I just don't have any for you."

Xin Fu said nothing, but pulled both axes from his belt and held them at the ready. His flunkies moved forward, weapons gripped and grinning. Squirrel closed her right hand around the hilt of her sword, and waited, tense, for the men opposite her to make the first move.

"We got a problem here, jennel-men?"

Xin Fu turned and looked over his shoulder. Sam smiled pleasantly, tapping the head of his cudgel in his open palm. Pintel and Ragetti grinned from behind him, both with their swords drawn. The odds were evened up now. No longer was it four men against a woman; four on four, and everyone a fighter. If there was a fight, it could go either way. Xin Fu hesitated. If there was no sure chance of him winning, he wasn't going to play.

"You alright, _a stór_?" Sam called in an exaggerated manner to Squirrel.

Squirrel smiled lazily back. If the Irishman showed no sign of fear, neither would she. "Course I am, paddy. Why wouldn't I be?"

Xin Fu slipped his axes back into his belt, and his men set their weapons back in their sheathes. The Chinese man glowered at Squirrel. "_This_ _was just a warning_," he hissed. "_Do not incur the Dragon Lady's wrath_."

"_I don't intend to_," Squirrel replied. "_But I really couldn't care how angry I make you_."

Xin Fu glowered at her, then he and his men stepped back… and vanished into the throng. Squirrel searched the heads of the people in the crowd, but could see no sign of any of the men. It was as though they'd dispersed like smoke into the air. For all his posturing - let alone the plates of armour they wore - Xin Fu and his men were clearly very quick and agile. And not ones to be reckoned with.

"You bloody idiot," Sam said, his smile vanishing behind anger. "Yeh could'a been killed!"

Squirrel put her dagger back in its sheath. "Well, I have to thank you for your timely intervention." She smiled at the three men. Sam was the only one who didn't smile back.

The Irishman took Squirrel's mah-jong tiles from Ragetti and handed it back to her. "I think we'd all better head back, aye? Enough excitement for one deey?" Neither Pintel nor Ragetti needed to be told twice - they headed off down the road, ready to be out of the stifling, clinging humidity of Singapore. Sam watched them go, then looked back to Squirrel, his eyes burdened. "You bloody fool," he said again, this time with a much softer voice.

"I'm sorry." Squirrel sighed. "I didn't mean to…"

"No," Sam said wryly, "But yeh seem intent on makin' me promise 'ard t' keep, doncha?"

"Ah, but you love me," Squirrel teased.

Sam almost smiled back, wistfulness sparkling in his eyes. "More the fool me, then, aye?" He held out his arm like a gentleman, paused, then lowered it again. His smile came back quickly, before Squirrel could feel too much a pang, or even consider putting her arm through his. Words from past the Cape echoed in both their ears: _No sense in makin' it more complicated than it already is_.

Sam sighed. "Come on," he murmured, and they walked side by side through Singapore's streets, back to the tavern.

**

* * *

**

1 Ang moh: red hair. Chinese/Singapore slang for anyone white

2 White devil. Far less polite than _ang moh_

3 You think I'm an idiot?

4 Fool

5 Bitch/whore

**A/N**: Gasp! Mahjong and traders and Xin Fu, oh my! And… Sam?  
Suggestions always welcome. Criticisms and questions also. Flames annoy me, but there'll prolly be a good reason behind them, right?  
Just a warning: the chapters from here on in draw on the spoiler script. If I'm wrong, or if I neglect details, or if the movie is completely different, I will amend. Hopefully, all the characterisation I've done in chapters previous won't be too horribly wide of the mark.


	26. Fellowship

**Disclaimer**: Would you like some tom yum soup?

**A/N**: Some spoilers, but I'm running off the spoiler script, so this might be amended, if the movie should prove any different. Also, yes, I play Puzzle Pirates, as evidenced by Cotton's parrot.

* * *

"Ah," Barbossa grinned, "About time ye got back!" He gestured to the table in the middle of the room. "I believe lunch is served." 

The innkeeper's wife smiled at Squirrel as she set another plate down in the middle of the table, and invited everyone to sit down and eat. Following Squirrel's example, the crew all sat around the table. Gibbs wanted to know what everything was before he'd even consider tasting it, but Squirrel's assurance that there was nothing 'foreign' about the noodles, rice, vegetables and meats did nothing to assure him. The old salt was of the mind that eating rice led to blindness. But everyone else seemed willing to try what had been laid out for them. The chopsticks remained an obstacle, however. How to start eating?

Barbossa smiled to himself, and reached into his inner coat pocket, bringing out a knife and fork. All eyes turned to him, incredulous. He shrugged, and readied his cutlery either side of his plate. "No sense in me makin' a fool of meself," he explained to every raised eyebrow. "Just a little somethin' ye learn when ye travel the world." He nudged his chopsticks aside, and sighed slightly. "Never quite got the hang of these."

Squirrel picked up the chopsticks and started helping herself to some _kai lan_, picking it up and laying it on her plate. There was a short pause, in which Squirrel felt every eye turn to her in amazement. She smiled to herself, but had the grace to pause and ask, "What?"

"Of course," Barbossa said evenly, though his eyes retained some degree of surprise, "Some people pick it up rather quickly.

Sam laughed. "Yvonne's full o' surprises, ey, cap'n?"

Elizabeth stared, eyes sparkling with delight. "How…?"

Tia smiled, and copied Squirrel. "Like this, _oui_?"

Squirrel held up her hand for all to see. "Yes, like this." She pointed out how the sticks were to lie between the fingers; the crew copied her, with varying degrees of success. "Only," Squirrel sighed, gesturing with her chopsticks, "Don't hold them in your left hand."

"Well, you are," Pintel objected, fumbling the utensils yet again.

Squirrel shrugged. "I know. It's just easier for me. But it's bad luck to do so." Gibbs surreptitiously switched his chopsticks to his other hand. Marty swore as one stick spun free in the opposite direction; Will and Sam frowned in concentration, their knuckles turning white.

Mr Cotton's parrot bobbed up and down, amused by everyone's attempts, including its owner's. "Club-haul!" It chortled. "Blue barnacles!"

Elizabeth managed with some success, as did Tia. The men seemed determined not to be outdone, though not without some mishaps and slip-ups. But practice makes perfect, and it became gradually easier for everyone to help themselves and eat. Barbossa - blaming the stubbornness of old age - kept his knife and fork. And, for once, his comment was not met with an awkward silence, but laughter. It seemed that the old barriers and guardedness were being dropped; the meal was bringing everyone together. Everyone had a smile on their face.

It came as a sudden surprise to Squirrel that the crew had never eaten together like this. Barbossa always took his meals alone, except when Squirrel joined him; meals in the galley were eaten by those who were off-duty, off-watch. Never before had all the crew, every last man, eaten together.

And it seemed to bring everyone much closer.

"Could you pass the… spinach leaves?"

"_Kai lan_," Squirrel corrected Will, setting down her chopsticks to pass him the plate. "It's called _kai lan_."

"Aye," Sam seconded, spearing a dumpling from the main plate and flicking it onto his, "Saw bunches of 'em in the marketplaces, we did."

"Oh, you went out there this morning?" Elizabeth smiled. "What was it like?"

"Hot," Pintel muttered, his chopsticks slipping from his fingers again.

"And busy." Ragetti seconded, having more luck with them.

Sam glanced briefly at Squirrel, his smile never fading. His glance was a silent means of conveying: _I won't say nothing about the mishap if you don't_. "There's a lot out there, Miss Swann," he grinned. "Lots of things t' see an' buy."

"Clothes?"

Sam nodded. "Oh, plenty o' them, Lizzie. Plenty o' them."

"Were dere much silk?" Tia asked, curious. "I've alweeys wan'ed a scarf meed from silk."

"Women," Marty teased, "All they cares about is pretty dresses."

"Oh, shush, you." Tia smiled to herself.

"There's nothing wrong with that," Elizabeth added, mock-indignant.

Squirrel smiled as she passed Cotton a plate of rice. "That's very true."

The conversation continued, light and friendly banter in which it seemed that all that had happened before was set aside. Everyone was enjoying themselves. Squirrel smiled to herself, and thought that this was the closest she'd ever been to happy for a very long time. She didn't even need to catch Will's eye to know that he was smiling too.

When the meal was done, Barbossa leant back in his chair. "Master Flynn," he said, a shadow of concern flitting across his features, "Could I ask ye a favour?"

"Course, cap'n," Sam said, setting his chopsticks down. "What is it?"

Barbossa looked grim. "Someone came to me not long before you arrived back, tellin' me some story about his ship being stolen."

"Oh, aye," Sam exchanged a glance with Squirrel, "That would be Mister Hamilton, then."

"Well," Barbossa steepled his fingers, "Seein' as how he was tellin' me how easy it was for his ship t' be stolen, I think that p'raps we should send someone else t' keep an eye on the _Diana_. Wouldn't want her t' go missin' in the dead of night."

Sam rose to his feet. "Say n' more, cap'n. I'll head there now." He bobbed a small bow to the rest of the crew, made a small smile and wink to Squirrel, and left the tavern.

Tia watched silently until the door swung closed, then turned with serious eyes to the rest of the crew. "Deh place where deh Jack is kept prisoner," she said, her voice sibyl-like once more, "Is knoown as Deevy Jones' Locker."

Squirrel felt a shiver up and down her spine, and her smile was wiped from her face. So this was why Sam had to leave. He wasn't a part of this.

"Isn't that just another name for the bottom of the sea?" Elizabeth asked.

Tia turned her dark eyes to the governor's daughter. "Deevy Jones keeps all dat 'e teeks from deh sea. But deh Locker is a true place, just as deh Isla de Muerta were." She glanced to Barbossa, who nodded briefly. "Your kep-ten can oonly tek you so far. Dat is why we need deh charts. None 'oo 'ave ever been claimed by deh sea e'er return."

"So how do we know that the charts will help us?" Will asked, eyes cold and emotionless. "If no-one's ever been there, how do we know that they're accurate?"

Tia smiled at him. "Deh charts will be true, Mistah Tur-nah. 'Ave no fear of dat." Tia pushed her plate and utensils to the side, clearing a space before her; from the folds of her dress she procured her cards, and started laying them out in a pattern. Gibbs surreptitiously crossed himself and edged away from the woman and her cards. Tia pretended not to notice. "Deh Dragon Lady have deh charts, but she not want to give dem away to deh first ones dat ask." She flipped a card out, and examined it with a frown. "We need to trade somet'in' she want for dose charts. 'Er 'eart's desire."

"If only we had that compass of yours, Tia," Squirrel said offhandedly. "That might help." She saw Elizabeth squirm slightly out of the corner of her eye. Or was that just her imagination?

Tia looked sharply at Squirrel, but smiled. "No, Miss Greeh. Deh compass only show you what you _want_. It don't show you what your 'eart truly desire." She put down another card - it was the grey-cloaked figure she had shown Squirrel twice before.

Squirrel frowned, and paused a moment as Tia flipped out another two, three cards. "There's a difference?"

"Of course dere is," Tia said calmly, sweeping all the cards up into her left hand and secreting them away. The swamp woman surveyed the crew, holding everyone's eyes, one by one. "We need deh charts. So, to get dem, we need t' fin' what deh Lady be wantin' mos' of all." Tia's eyes turned and locked on Squirrel.

Slowly, Squirrel realised that everyone's eyes were turning her way. She looked around, feeling trapped. "What are you looking at me for?" She asked, defensive.

"Ye speak the language," Barbossa said gently. "So ye'll be the one t' ask around." The other members of the crew seemed to be of the same mind. Tia alone wore a different expression: a smirk that seemed to say '_you brought this on yourself, now you have to deal with it_'. And, for all that Tia was right, Squirrel couldn't help but think that this was something that the woman had planned from the beginning.

After a slight pause, Squirrel looked around at her friends. "The Dragon Lady already knows that we're here," she murmured. "And she's not happy about it." She looked up, meeting Will's eyes before looking to Barbossa. "When we were out this morning, I was… threatened."

"She was," Ragetti seconded. "Four men."

"All armed," Pintel added, unnecessarily.

Barbossa looked sharply at Squirrel; most of the other crewmen did the same, but the look on the older pirate's face was the most obvious.

"A thug called Xin Fu," Squirrel shrugged, trying not to let the others' concern worry her too much, "I've known men of his ilk back on Tortuga. He's nothing but talk. But the message he was delivering was clear enough." Squirrel looked to Tia. "We're not welcome here, and the Dragon Lady wants us off her island."

There was a silence in the wake of Squirrel's words. Glances went back and forth - only Barbossa, Tia and Squirrel kept level gazes.

"Den we mus' hurry and fin' what we need," Tia said calmly, unaffected, "Before deh t'reats she sends become a liddle 'arsher."

* * *

Squirrel was alone in her room, studying the mah-jong tiles before her, when there was a knock at her door. "Come in," she called, without looking up. When the door opened, Squirrel's eyes remained focused on the tiles, but her mind was occupied elsewhere. 

"What are you doing?" Will asked casually.

"Mah-jong," Squirrel said, picking up a pair of tiles and moving them aside. "Though, I must admit, I'm not very sure of the rules."

Will tilted his head and smiled, "You have a table in your room?"

Squirrel smiled back, but kept her eyes on the game. "I asked for one, and they were more than happy to provide. After I paid a nominal fee for it, of course."

Will shut the door behind him.

Squirrel looked up at last. "William," she murmured, "What are you doing?"

Will sighed, and brought a chair over to the table. "We have to talk." He sat down opposite her, and set both arms on the table.

Two more tiles were collected and set aside. "About what?"

Will's eyes were serious. "About you doing this alone. I don't think it's a good idea."

Squirrel smiled to herself, and neglected the game for a moment. "Is that because of a lack of faith in me, William?"

He didn't rise to the challenge. "I think it's a bad idea for someone who has been threatened to be asking questions about the very person who wants to have you killed."

Squirrel fingered a stray tile. "She doesn't want us killed," she murmured. "Only away from Singapore."

"You're still putting yourself in danger," Will said, putting his hand on hers. "Unnecessary danger."

"Unnecessary?" Squirrel shook her head. "I'm the only one here who can speak the language." She lifted her hand from under Will's, trying not to notice how comforting his touch had been. "Besides… if this is the only way to do what needs to be done…" She left the sentence unfinished, and picked up two, three, four more sets of tiles. Then she smiled at Will. "Should we discuss our rebellion now?"

"It's daylight," Will said, glancing at the window and the door. "Daylight is no time to be discussing mutiny."

Squirrel pulled an amused face. "Those were my words, William. So, in turn, I'll reply with some from Barbossa: in Singapore, all we know means nothing, for the rules are different."

"Then mutiny it is." Will smiled briefly before his eyes went dark. "You intend to follow Barbossa's plan on this?"

Squirrel nodded. "I think it would be for the best if we did. At least, for now. After all, the man has a head for forward planning. Captain or not, if anyone can help us reach the _Black Pearl_, it's Hector Barbossa. Anything after that will be ours to take charge of. But for the time being, I think it best we follow him."

"But still…" Will shrugged. "I don't trust him." When Squirrel frowned disapprovingly at him, Will added with a slight smile, "I don't trust him any more than you trust Tia Dalma."

"Not anymore than I have to." She nodded. "I understand, William."

"So it comes down to this." Will counted off on his fingers. "You find out what it is that we can trade to the Dragon Lady, we trade it to her to get the charts; we follow Barbossa and the rest of the crew to the ends of the earth, and then…" He paused; he looked pensive and brooding once again, "Then we convince those who will follow us to follow us, and leave everyone else behind."

Squirrel shrugged. She didn't have the answers more than anyone else. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves. We need to take this one step at a time. We need to plan it carefully. And we should be prepared for every eventuality." She started setting out the tiles once more.

"Obviously." Will sat back and watched Squirrel's hands arrange the tiles. Curious, he asked, "How is it played?"

Squirrel shrugged. "From what I can gather, it's the Chinese version of poker. The tiles need to be collected in certain order, each tile with a different worth when coupled with others." Tiles clicked and rattled under her fingers like singing birds as she resorted and stacked them once more.

Will frowned. "That doesn't look like what you're doing."

"I know," Squirrel sighed as she began the game anew, "Because I'm playing alone. So, I'm playing something like… fifty-two pickup, or solitaire." She pointed out the rules she'd thrown together. "Tiles with identical markings are pulled from the pyramid, pair by pair. But only the ones on the ends can be collected." She illustrated by pulling free another pair of tiles.

"I see." Will leant forward, examining the game. "So only partners - who aren't held back by another - can be freed."

Squirrel paused a moment. "Yes. That's the gist of it."

He lifted his deep brown eyes and looked thoughtfully at her. "How fitting."

Squirrel cleared another pair - two coloured birds - and said nothing.

Will picked up a spare tile and examined it. "What are these made from?"

"I don't know." Squirrel paused. "I think they're made from the same thing as my necklace."

Will reached across the table and lifted Squirrel's necklace in his hand, running his fingers across the diamonds, comparing the feel of it to the tile he held in his other hand. Squirrel tilted her chin forward, making it easier for Will to feel the necklace… but also, bringing her face much closer to Will's. After a moment, both of them seemed to realise how close they were; their breath was meeting together, heating the air between their faces. Will's fingers froze, and Squirrel caught her breath. Their eyes locked; neither of them could move. Suddenly, there was the sound of Tia shouting downstairs, and the spell broke - Will and Squirrel pulled back to their respective sides of the table, the necklace thudding heavily against Squirrel's chest. There was a silence in the room between them.

"You can't come to my room again, William," Squirrel said softly, breaking the silence. "Especially not now, and definitely not at night. Someone will see you, and they'll get the wrong idea."

"The wrong idea?" Will smiled faintly.

Squirrel smiled back, but only for a moment. "I'm not going to betray Elizabeth. I told you that."

Will sighed, and nodded, setting the tile back down with its brothers. "I know you won't." He smile faintly with sad eyes. "I wouldn't expect you to."

"We'll find some other way of… discussing this." Squirrel pushed a few tiles around, knowing she was red in the face. "After dinner, or during training, or something."

"Yes." He nodded, a tinge also to his face. "Of course." His eyes, strangely, did not slide away from her as they usually did. It was Squirrel who looked away first.

There was a knock at the door, and both Will and Squirrel jumped like the guilty.

"Could you get that?" Squirrel lowered her eyes, and picked up playing her version of mah-jong where she'd left off. Will rose to his feet and went to the door.

"Will! What… what are you…"

Squirrel looked up. "Ah, Lizzie," she smiled, genially. "Care to join us? I'm trying to teach William how to play mah-jong, but he's not doing too well." The words came smoothly, swiftly, and saved her as much as Will. She'd always been quick on her feet. Will looked over his shoulder, sparing Squirrel a grateful glance.

"Oh," Elizabeth looked between Will, the tiles on the table, and Squirrel before managing a smile. "Oh, no, thankyou. I just came to bring you this. It's your things from the ship." She held out a satchel. Squirrel rose to collect it.

"Ah, wonderful." She checked the contents of the bag, then looked up with a frown. "Where's my coat?"

Elizabeth's eyes went wide, and she winced. "I'm so sorry! I forgot it! It wasn't with your bunk, so I didn't…"

Squirrel smiled and waved her hand in the air dismissively. "It's alright, Lizzie, it's alright. I'll get it tomorrow." She started whistling to herself as she set her satchel down on the bed, and started checking through it. Whistling, not only to appear at ease, but to settle her nerves. Wrapped in her cloak, at the bottom of the satchel, was the empty glass bottle. Squirrel looked down at it, still whistling. Inwardly, she was thinking - _what on earth could be more valuable than _'_shou_'? _And what is 'shou' anyway?_ As she stood and pondered, she slowly realised she was still being watched. The music died on her lips and the thoughts in her mind as she turned back. Both Will and Elizabeth were staring at her.

"What?" Squirrel asked. "What's wrong?"

"You mean you didn't know?" Will asked.

Squirrel made an amused face. "Well, evidently not, I suppose." He and Elizabeth exchanged glances. If that wasn't a clue, what was? "What's wrong?" She asked, a little urgently, the smile wiped from her face.

Elizabeth looked to Squirrel, eyes filled with apologetic sympathy. "The _Diana_'s gone."

**

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A/N:** Reviews make me your best friend :P 


	27. To Help You Find Your Way

**Disclaimer**: Strike the bells, Aggie-May, and let us go below.

**A/N**: Short chapter, maybe minor spoilers. Mostly fluff, so excuse me. This chapter might not need to be amended after the movie comes out.

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Barbossa was playing solitaire with a ratty set of playing cards, the monkey perched on his shoulder, when Squirrel stormed downstairs. The primate looked up and greeted her, but fell immediately silent at the look on her face. 

"What the bloody hell have you done?!" Squirrel demanded.

Barbossa looked placidly up at her. "And good evenin' t' ye too, angel."

"You sold the _Diana_?"

"Aye," Barbossa said, unruffled by Squirrel's anger. "I did. We won't be needin' her no more."

Squirrel grit her teeth. "We won't need her? What is that supposed to mean?"

"It mean we don' need 'er." A voice from the shadows made Squirrel jump and turn. Tia was leaning against the wall, arms folded. She looked in a poor temper; Squirrel remembered hearing the woman's voice shouting only moments before. "But while we mey not need deh ship, p'raps somet'in' aboard might 'ave been wort' somet'in' to us." The swamp woman's eyes were disapprovingly focused on Barbossa. "En't dat right, kep-ten?"

"Damn straight," Squirrel muttered.

Barbossa looked up from his cards to smile knowingly at Squirrel. "Angel, there comes a time when ye have t' make sacrifices. Painful but necessary sacrifices."

Squirrel folded her arms. "The very least you could have done, _captain_," she stressed the word mockingly, "Is let the rest of the crew know what you were going to do with the ship."

"An' Mastah Flynn," Tia added, "P'raps would have liked to know more dan most." She glowered again at Barbossa.

Squirrel paused. "Wait, what?" She frowned between the two of them. "Sam? What about him?"

Barbossa raised an eyebrow. "Ye mean t' say ye're not down here because of him?"

It was Tia who answered Squirrel's question. "Mastah Flynn be gone wid deh tide, Miss Greeh," she said softly. "He gone wid deh _Diana_ when she seeled." There was pity in her eyes, and sympathy.

Squirrel sat down heavily, unable to fathom what she was hearing. "What?" She whispered. "No. That's not possible." _He wouldn't… he promised…_

Barbossa pursed his lips as he resumed his game of cards, but the monkey on his shoulder cringed and cooed. "Ye're the one who said ye wanted t' finish this 'quest' of ours with only the ten men we started with, angel. And, while I certainly appreciate Master Flynn's help s' far, he could go no further. Where we go is not for the faint of heart, nor for men o' noble intentions. And Singapore is no place to maroon someone like him, either. It's not safe." Barbossa fixed his blue eyes on Squirrel. "What else was I supposed to do?" His voice was almost a plea, a plea to be understood. Tia scoffed from the shadows and muttered under her breath.

Squirrel clenched her fist, but there was no more anger in her voice. "You sold him? Like a slave?"

"No," Tia said, shooting another glare that caused the monkey to flinch and duck under the brim of Barbossa's hat, "But Mastah Flynn was 'convinced' t' leave. Him sail out with Hamilton, deh poor boy."

"If it's any consolation, angel," Barbossa shrugged nonchalantly, though with a twinge of regret in his eyes, "He weren't an easy man t' convince."

_I didn't even get to say goodbye…_ Squirrel numbly rose to her feet and went back upstairs. She was halfway up the stairs when Barbossa called out to her. "Angel?" She turned back, her hand on the railing. "If ye didn't come down here t' berate me about Master Flynn," Barbossa raised an eyebrow up at her, "What did ye come down here for?"

"Nothing." Squirrel said. She went to her room and shut the door.

The room seemed hollow, somehow. Empty. Squirrel looked around for something to do. Her satchel lay where she'd left it. With a sigh, Squirrel sat down on the bed and set about unpacking her belongings. They were fewer now - the mirror had been traded, the papers had been filled with notes and since discarded, the clothes had been worn to threads, the candles and bottle of oil had been used up, and the comb had broken. What she could call her own hung from her belt and remained in her satchel; how fortunate it had been that she'd not left her cards or dice in the coat pockets.

_Hamlet_ - now even more dog-eared and worn than previously - emerged from the satchel, as did the albatross quill in its sheath, the stockings - of which she had yet to wear - the wooden box containing the silver amulet, her cloak, and…

Squirrel frowned, and pulled out the last bundle. She didn't recognise this. Wrapped in green paper and string, the package came with a note. Squirrel recognised Sam's handwriting straight away.

'_Well_,' he'd written, '_I don't know how soon you'll find this, but I know you'll find it some day. Seeing how it was Christmas and all, I got to wondering when your own birthday was. No-one seemed to know. You probably don't even remember yourself. But that shouldn't mean you can't celebrate it. I heard you say once that you often felt lost_.' It looked as though he'd wanted to write more, but there wasn't enough paper. So, he closed with, '_Seeing as how I've yet to remember your name for you, I hope this is enough. Happy Birthday_, _a stór mo chroí_. _Yours forever, Séamus_.'

Squirrel bit her lip, and felt something catch in her throat. "Idiot," she murmured, unable to keep from smiling; even though the smile was a sad one, there was fondness in it. With a sigh, she set the note aside, and set about opening her birthday present.

Out of the green paper slid a small box. Inside this box, when the lid was lifted, was the shine of tin… or silver. Squirrel frowned, and brushed her finger around the object. A pocket watch? Squirrel tipped it into the palm of her hand, and turned it in her fingers. Squirrel's fingers brushed a catch, and she gently clicked it open.

Her breath caught in her throat.

It wasn't a pocket watch. It was a compass. Wrought from silver and intricately decorated with patterns of waves and vines, it pointed true-north unwaveringly. It was so beautiful. But that wasn't all. In the lid of the compass was engraved the message: _To help you find your way_. Squirrel closed her eyes before the tears took her sight.

"_Yo-ho, yo-ho, a pirate's life for me!" Squirrel kicked up her heels and spun, singing breathlessly to the melody of the violin as she danced. "We're beggars and blighters and ne'er-do-well cads, drink up me hearties, yo-ho! Aye, but we're loved by our mummies and dads! Drink up, me hearties, yo-ho!"_

_Sam laughed, singing with her. His bow flickered back and forth like lightning across the strings, speeding up the song. Squirrel gasped with laughter and stumbled to the deck, sitting back and laughing. Sam grinned, and set his violin down. "Should I stop, then, Mary?"_

_Squirrel nodded, still laughing. "You'd better," she gasped, "I need… to get… my breath back."_

"_Say no more, Lara." The Irishman set his violin aside, locking it back into its case._

_Squirrel slowly rose to her feet and went to the railing, and looked out to sea, still smiling to herself. The moon hung bright and clear over the water, turning the sea to silver. The wind blew soft and warm, billowing in the sails. It was a calm night; calm and sultry, the air still smelling of the spices and deserts of Arabia. It was a beautiful night._

_Squirrel heard Sam come up behind her, and turned to find him looking sidelong at her. "Penny fer yeh thoughts?"_

"_If only," Squirrel smiled, this time a little faintly. "And I don't think my name's Penny, either."_

_Sam sighed and shrugged. "Well, it was worth a shot." He grinned; Squirrel smiled back, then looked once more over the water. "Yeh've gotten better at the dancin'," Sam said, his voice soft and tentative. "I'd swear yeh've a bit o' Ireland in yeh blood, I would."_

"_Maybe that's because there's Ireland in the music," Squirrel laughed, staring up at the moon. Since he'd played that sad, sweet tune for her, a few nights ago, it had gradually been easier to dance to other songs he'd played. And the fiddler's enthusiasm was infectious. The music just made you want to kick up your heels and dance._

_Sam didn't reply for a long while. "Aye, maybe." His voice was a bare whisper when he spoke. "D'yeh still think about yeh man?" He sounded like he really didn't want to know the answer, yet at the same time, that he'd die if he didn't._

_Squirrel smile faded from her face. She couldn't turn to face him. "Sometimes. But I try not to."_

"_How d'yeh not think of someone yeh love?"_

_Squirrel closed her eyes, breathing deep of the sea air. "I spend time with my friends. I do my chores. I dance to the tune of a violin."_

"_Why?"_

"_Why?" Squirrel opened her eyes and stared out over the water. "Because it hurts too much to think of him." And there it was again: that queasy, unsettled feeling that churned in her stomach and thinned the blood in her veins. The betrayal and heartache that had dulled only slightly since she'd come to terms with it. "Because I can't… I can't think of him without feeling… lost." Confused, unsure, directionless, uncertain, adrift. Lost._

_After a long pause, Sam murmured, "I know what that feels like."_

"_Do you?" Squirrel turned, and all other words died on her lips. _

_Earnest eyes stared back at her. "Aye, _a stór_, I do." He smiled slightly, self-mockingly, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Thing is, it only hurts when I don't think of her. So, as yeh can imagine, she's in my thoughts quite a bit." He shrugged, glancing at the moon. "It's a bit of a fix I'm in, wouldn't yeh sey? 'Specially seein' as how she spends all her time not-thinkin' o' someone else."_

_Squirrel sighed. "Sam, don't. Please."_

"_Aye, I knoo." The Irishman nodded, and a grin tugged at his face. "It's complicated. No sense in makin' it more complicated than it already is."_

_Squirrel tried to turn away, but couldn't. She found she didn't really want to. "Séamus…"_

"_I knoo," He sighed, shrugging reluctantly. "I knoo." He looked at her, moonlight reflecting in his eyes. "It hurts t' think of 'im, aye. An' I'd hate to make it hurt even more badly with me interferin'. But for what it's worth, _a stór_… I won't let yeh be hurt anymore. I promise."_

_Squirrel felt a lump in her throat and a pain in her chest. "You can't make a promise like that, paddy. You don't know what's going to happen. You don't know…"_

_Sam pulled Squirrel into his arms and held her close. Squirrel's protests faded to nothing; her heart fluttered in her chest. He was warm, and his strong arms were a comfort and a shield. No-one had ever held her like this before. No-one had ever held her so tightly, with such… No-one had ever…_

"_I promise," Sam held her tight and whispered into her ear, "That I won't ever 'urt yeh. I'll do all that I can t' protect yeh, and t' keep yeh from harm. An' that's a promise I inten' t' keep, come what may." Slowly, he let her go, holding her at the length of his arms, eyes scanning her face with such intensity. It was as though he were committing every detail of her to memory, as an artist would remember something to draw it later. The gap between them widened, inch by inch, as Sam pulled back, walking backwards. Then, with a heavy sigh, he turned away, picked up his violin case, and went with silent steps down below._

_Squirrel watched him go, not knowing what to think._

She stared at the compass now, still not knowing what she thought of the Irishman. Still not knowing how she felt about how _he_ felt about her. On one hand, he was gone now, so what did it matter? He was just another memory, another part of her past. There was no way to reach back, or to change what had been said or done. It didn't matter, anyhow. But if that was the case, then why did she feel like this? He shouldn't have meant anything to her… so why did it feel like he did?

_Forever yours_…

Squirrel slowly set the compass down, and sighed. With a glance out the window, she saw that night had fallen over Singapore. It was late. Very late. All the crew were abed, as well as a great number of the locals. Paper lanterns bobbed like leashed fireflies in the restless breeze. Incense wafted on the breeze, and somewhere, someone was singing to the tune of a Chinese zither.

Squirrel knew she'd get no sleep tonight. Her thoughts were far too restless. With a sigh, she buttoned up her shirt against the evening's cool and quietly left the inn.

**

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A/N**: Squirrel's version of mah-jong may or may not have anything to do with Neopets. Don't want to breech copyright laws or nothing. Sam's farewell glance is from . If the spoilers I've written here differ too greatly from the movie, I will edit the chapter and put up a notice for all to see. Reviews are loved! 


	28. Temptation

**Disclaimer**: "Never try to take anything by force that I am willing to give freely…" (_Curse of the Golden Flower_)

**A/N**: Frank Peretti's 'This Present Darkness' may have had a bit of an influence on the first half of this chapter. Go read it. It's awesome and SO TRUE. Also, a line from one of Jen Cass' songs from the album 'Skies Burning Red', which I need… Lots of Singapore experiences here. Shouldn't be any major spoilers, but just in case… be careful.

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There was a moon hovering over the waters once more, but it was a half-moon this time. Half of it in light, and half of it in shadow; half black, half white. Squirrel stood on the shoreline, the waves whispering around her feet, and stared up at it. The pale light shone down around her, and turned the world a strange dark shade of grey. 

"I would have at least like to have said goodbye," she whispered. No matter how she felt about the Irishman, she knew she'd miss him. His careless smile, his songs, even his violin. Squirrel smiled wryly to herself, remembering how she'd once railed against his musical ability. "I _am_ going to miss his singing." Then she sighed, and fingered the stones of her necklace. Why did everything have to be so complicated? Why couldn't it be simple? For once? Just once? She looked out over the water, and watched the waves rolling in. With a smile, she remembered how safe she'd felt when Sam had put his arms around her. How, for once, she hadn't felt lost, or alone.

In the midst of Squirrel's wistful recollections, a foreign voice laughed from her shoulder. _Looks like you're alone now, girl. Precious paddy's gone away, and you're all by yourself. Once again._

Squirrel grit her teeth against the voice. _It doesn't matter_, she told herself, even though she knew it was a lie. This much was true, at least: _I'm not alone. I have my friends_.

_Ah_, the taunting voice added, _But that's not what you want, is it? That's not what you really want._ There was a serpentine flicker in the words.

The hairs on the back of Squirrel's neck rose up, and her skin began to crawl. Something was telling her to turn around, but a deeper instinct was screaming against it. Some war was taking place in her heart… and her soul. _Turn don't turn don't turn don't_… Lot's wife must have heard the same voice when the two towns burned behind her.

Squirrel turned, and looked back. Her breath caught in her throat in a strange strangled gasp. Behind her, the Lantern lay dark and silent in the night. The entire building was shrouded in darkness, the stars shining behind it. It loomed in the darkness, like some kind of fortress. But one window was lit a bright gold. One square of light in the whole of the dark, black shape of the building. And Squirrel knew without a doubt that that was Will's room.

_Feel like mutiny tonight?_

Squirrel flushed and turned angrily back to the sea and to the moon.

_It's just like Anamaria said_, the voice seemed to shrug. _You'll always be alone, no matter how many friends - or lovers - you have_.

Squirrel balled her hand into a fist. _That's not what she said! At least, not how she said it…_

_Where's the harm in it? If you're careful, no-one will ever find out. You've certainly been careful enough as it is. Go on - who's going to know?_

_I'll know_, Squirrel thought, glancing back at the square of light. _And he'll know_. _And somehow we'll betray ourselves. _She looked back out to sea and sighed. _It's not right_.

_But it's what you deserve! _The voice insisted. _Elizabeth deserves to be betrayed! She stole your man… why shouldn't you do the same to her?_

_Because I'm not a whore. And because I promised Will_…

_You like him, don't you?_

_Of course I do._

_Then, where's the harm in it?_

_There's plenty of harm! If I get involved with Will, it'll be even worse than before! I'm not going to be heartbroken again!_

_You don't know that. You just might find that happy ending you always wanted. Your heart's desire._

_What I want,_ Squirrel thought coolly, remembering Tia' smile, _Is not the same as my heart's desire_.

_All's fair in love and war._

She remembered Jack and Elizabeth's traitorous kiss, and almost agreed. But she lifted her eyes to the night sky and keened rebelliously: _I don't love Will!_ But as soon as the thought had formed, she stopped, and hesitated. _I don't_, she reiterated, less certain than before.

… _Really?_

Squirrel shook herself, trying to dislodge the thought. But it clung to her, like ivy to a wall. The voice taunted and teased, every word a caress which stirred Squirrel. Back and forth she argued. But for every argument she could make, there was a rebuttal. Slowly, the voice was wearing down her resolve.

_Face it, Squirrel. You have more in common with Mister Turner than you do that pirate. And Jack is dead, while Will is warm and breathing_. _Very warm._

_I can't. I won't. It wouldn't be right._

_You're a pirate. Take what you want._

_No… I'm not like that._

_You're standing out here in the cold, feeling all lost and alone. Wouldn't it be better to just be with someone? Someone who understands those feelings, and can help you chase them away?_

Squirrel shook her head again, as though she could physically shake the voice from her head. But the temptation kept growing stronger and stronger. The words spread in her like black ink in a bucket of water, darkening everything. The longer she stayed arguing with this force, the less she'd be able to speak. And she was already weakening.

_How would Sam feel about this?_ She demanded in desperation, calling on the memory of the strength she'd felt, for a moment. The voice fell silent, but was swiftly replaced by a deep, hollow ache. A loneliness that was practically tangible. Squirrel choked, her eyes filling with tears. _Sam…_ His arms closed around her again… but, this time, with Jack's face. Seeing the kohl-eyed devil made the ache somehow double. _Jack?_ He moved closer, embracing her more fiercely, more possessively, face close to hers to kiss her… And then, suddenly, it wasn't Jack holding her, but Will. She was drowning in Will's deep eyes… Squirrel stepped back with a cry, shattering the vision.

She was fighting a losing battle.

Before her, the waves whispered on the shore. The moon looked down on her, half-masked and cold. Behind her, Squirrel could feel the light from Will's window burning down over her. Squirrel pulled a coin from her belt pouch and started flipping it from hand to hand, wanting something - anything - to distract her.

_The moon and the sea_, she told herself, _or the night… and the candlelight_.

The coin slipped from her fingers, and landed in the sand. Squirrel looked down, intending to scoop it up and pocket it, but she paused, wide-eyed. The night suddenly got much cooler.

The coin had landed on its edge in the wet sand, showing neither heads or tails.

The five diamonds at her throat were heavy and warm, and clung to her skin. Nervously, restlessly, Squirrel fingered each diamond in turn, then returned to the diamond at the middle. Here she was, alone, caught between a rock and a hard place; between the Devil and the deep blue sea. Where could she go? Instinct was blurred and useless; temptation had worn her to tears; she had no motivation or resolve to decide which way to turn. And nothing to help her decide.

The coin glinted in the sand at her feet; Squirrel left it where it had fallen. She turned and walked away from everything, putting as much distance between herself and the inn as she could.

* * *

She didn't know where she went. She just walked, mind awhirl, heart aching, and conscience weeping. Many of the houses and business she passed were closed. A pedlar in the now-empty marketplace sold her a dragonfruit. Using her dagger, Squirrel peeled the rubbery pink skin free of the black-freckled white meat, and ate as she walked. Opium dens flung their doors wide, the dangerously-seductive smoke billowing and beckoning like clawed hands. A young child ran naked from out of a doorway, his mother chasing after him with a washcloth and curses. A man with a wide conical straw hat carried a basket of skull-sized durians on his back to some unknown destination, the smell lingering in the air long after he'd gone. Women in brightly-coloured silks wandered the night, calling to any and all men who passed by. A ragged urchin bumped into Squirrel, though the street was nearly empty. She caught him before he could slip away, twisted his arm and made him return the pouch he'd managed to pluck from her belt. Then she let him go with a clip over the ear and a coin in his fist. And kept walking. 

She left the Chinese quarter, and only realised this when she no longer recognised the language spoken. Brown-skinned men and women with white, white teeth worked in the darkness, painting designs by lantern-light onto white sheets of cloth. Squirrel hung around until one of the women noticed Squirrel, and gave her a tour. The woman's rapid-fire speech and broken English meant all her explanations went right over Squirrel's head, but Squirrel understood the basics. These were barrels of dye. The designs were painted on in wax, then the clothes were dipped in the dye and left overnight. In the morning, the cloths would be dried in the sun, then dipped in boiling water to melt away the wax, leaving designs clear for all to see. The sheets could be used as tablecloths, curtains, skirts, whatever one chose. It was a traditional art, passed down for generations.

"_Sotong_?" A fresh-faced young child offered Squirrel the dried cuttlefish he was chewing on. Squirrel declined politely, and kept walking.

She found herself in the Indian quarter, where the smell of spices and sweat were both strong and familiar. It brought back memories of Calcutta. It was far livelier here, in this darkened part of Singapore. Saris and clothes of every hue wandered through the moonlit streets. Devotees bowed to miniature shrines of multi-coloured figures, the gods and goddesses only slightly more colourful than their worshippers. Squirrel looked for a shop that sold _pada_, feeling hungry for the sugary doughy confection, but didn't find any. Men in the narrow streets watched Squirrel closely, with hostile curiosity. She wisely turned and went back the way she'd come, wanting to appear as though there was a purpose to her listless wanderings.

Light was beginning to show in the sky, strained and anaemic, when she returned to the Chinese section of the island. A group of older men and women stood on a grassy knoll at the foot of the jungle, performing some kind of dance. Squirrel stopped to watch. Their movements were slow, graceful, and all coordinated with the rest of the group, though the 'dancers' did not move from where they stood. She asked a passer-by, who told her it was called '_tai qi_'. Masked by distance, Squirrel herself imitated the gestures of the exercise, and felt a little calmer and more level-headed by the time the sun broke over the treetops.

A market stall at the entrance to the city sold what the merchant claimed were good luck charms. Squirrel lingered, examining everything, though she said nothing about what she thought of luck. Her money bought her a strange red knot with a hanging tassel, which she tied to the hilt of her dagger, a string of hollow-centred coins, which she hung from her belt, and a jade ornament the size of her thumbprint, carved into the shape of a gourd. She picked the lightest one on display, and slipped it onto the silver hoop of her earring. It dangled from the earring, the cold stone tapping the left side of her neck lightly, just over the blood-filled vein. She didn't particularly care what the charms represented, and so she didn't ask. They were just pretty baubles to her.

As the rising sunlight brought businesses and people to life, Squirrel bought some tea at a teahouse, and drank slowly as she watched the marketplace and streets fill with Singaporean locals. Somehow, the tea drank pure, without sugar or milk, tasted much better than she might have expected. When she was done, Squirrel sighed, and rose to her feet. It was time to return to the inn, whether she trusted herself or not. She took a moment to look around, trying to get her bearings. It didn't work - she had no idea where she was. She must have been far inland. She could neither hear nor smell the sea any more. With a shrug, Squirrel started off in the most likely direction.

She'd not gone very far when someone moved to block her path.

"_Ni hao, ang moh_."1

Squirrel sighed. "Move, Xin Fu," she tried to step around him, "I'm in no mood to deal with you today."

Xin Fu put up his arm, stopping her. "Oh," he said, grinning like a crocodile, "So now that you have no friends to watch over you, you feel you cannot speak to me?"

Squirrel pulled a face, and moved through the crowd. She heard him following her, with his heavy boots and clanking armour. Fear tickled the edges of her conscience. With swift feet, Squirrel changed her course, and ducked down a side street. Once through, she ran to the other side of the road, doubled back, then continued walking at a leisurely pace, opposite the way she'd come. She smiled, sure she'd lost him.

Xin Fu stepped out of the crowd in front of her. Squirrel halted, frowning. _How did he…? _She looked over her shoulder.

Four men, dark and armoured as Xin Fu himself, coagulated out of the crowd.

Squirrel turned back to the axe-bearing thug. "You think I'm alone?" She smiled. Bluffing had helped her once, it would help her again. "You're sadly mistaken."

"We've been following you since you left the inn." Xin Fu's smile broadened. "_Ni juede wo hen ben ma_?"2

Squirrel tried not to blanch too obviously. She looked over her shoulder again. A fifth man stepped out from behind a cart, a sixth appeared from an alleyway, and a seventh turned lazily out of the doorway he'd been watching from. They all closed in, moving through the crowd like a pack of wolves. Squirrel circled around behind Xin Fu, putting him and his soldiers on the same side of the street. Xin Fu let her, and then he advanced, slow and sure; Squirrel backed away, weaving her way through the crowd and the streets as Xin Fu and his men moved leisurely towards her.

Somehow, in this strange patient dance, Squirrel found herself in a deserted alleyway. Xin Fu and his men blocked off one end, and it was too far for Squirrel to make it to the other end safely. There wasn't time. She was trapped.

"We tried to warn you, _ang moh_," Xin Fu said, folding his arms as his men flowed into place around him. "Your arrogance will be your downfall."

"We don't want to fight you," Squirrel said, falling back on diplomacy, pleading with him. "We're not here to challenge the Dragon Lady, nor to steal from her. We're here to ask for her aid! Surely, that's no crime!"

"Your crime is your very existence!" Xin Fu laughed, and his men laughed with him. "You should have known that the Dragon Lady does not give aid to all who come to her door. You - along with all your friends - are fools. And, as such, deserve whatever punishment the Lady sees fitting." His men readied their weapons - curved swords, whips, metal-studded gloves, chains topped either end in lengths of wood.

Diplomacy would do nothing against this braggart. Words would not appease his puffed-up ego. Anger, then; she'd prick and bait him, lead him to make a mistake to use to her advantage. "Ah, so you are such a wise and brave man, _sha gua_, to attack me with seven armed soldiers." Squirrel laughed cruelly. "Such an honourable man, Xin Fu! Such bravery to attack an _ang moh_ all alone. And a woman too!" She sneered at him. "_Bu yao lian de dong xi_."3

Xin Fu's smile warped into a sneer. "Best watch your tongue, _huli jing_, or I might just cut it off."

Squirrel reached up and undid the first two buttons of her shirt, then reached a hand down her shirt. Xin Fu raised an eyebrow, and his soldiers all exchanged leering glances. They clearly were all thinking: this is how she is going to bargain her way out of this? The looks on their faces changed rapidly when Squirrel brought her hand back out, holding three small sharp knives. They hadn't known she was armed beyond a sword and a dagger; they hadn't known of the knife belt she wore. There was no telling how many more of the throwing daggers she carried, hidden under her shirt.

Squirrel knew she only had twelve left. Not enough to save her life.

"You think you can take me?" She half-crouched, drawing back her arm in preparation. "Come on."

Xin Fu did not move; neither did his men or Squirrel. They faced each other, weapons at the ready, each waiting for the other to make a move first. Squirrel's eyes flickered, back and forth, back and forth. Barbossa had been right - she would have been no match against these men with just a sword. Best put these little daggers to good use.

One of the men fell screaming to the ground, the three knives lodged in his face; Squirrel turned and sprinted as fast as she could, hearing Xin Fu's shouts and the footsteps of the soldiers behind her, closing in.

She burst through the alleyway and pushed through the crowd, trying to get away. Screams and shouts told her that Xin Fu and his men were hot on her heels. She turned and ducked and dived and weaved through the streets. But Xin Fu had the advantage. He had both the numbers and the knowledge of the layout of Singapore on his side. Squirrel did not know if this street she turned down would lead to a dead end, or what she would do if the men split up and fanned out to find her. She just ran, getting increasingly lost as she did so.

Something grabbed her, yanking tight around her waist, and Squirrel yelped as she tumbled to the ground. She looked back, and saw her 'tail' - the long end of her sash - had snagged on a cart. Swearing, Squirrel ripped it free, scrabbled to her feet, and ran on, tucking the loose end of it in her belt for safety's sake. That had been a close call. Too close. How much time had she lost?

"_Lai, lai_!4" Someone shouted. "_She's here_!"

"_Gou shi dui_!"5 Squirrel shouted back, skidding to a halt to duck down an alleyway. One of Xin Fu's men leapt up out of the shadows in front of her, sword raised to slice her in two. Squirrel stopped, and kicked up one leg with all the force she could muster, aiming for between the man's legs. While the man lay gasping and writhing on the ground, Squirrel sprang aside and ran on, panting. She couldn't keep this up for long. If she didn't find shelter or aid soon, she was dead.

It seemed absurd that now, of all times, she should remember her coat. True, it was gone with the _Diana_, but that was not what she remembered. What she remembered was the night she'd found it. That port in Africa, long ago, when a man had fled from his attackers, and had died silently on the shadowed cobblestone streets. Squirrel had taken the dead man's coat from him, before he was even cold. It seemed his fate was dogging her, reminding her that she could have - should have - stepped in to save him.

Squirrel resisted the urge to look over her shoulder. That would have just slowed her down, just as it had slowed the dead man.

She ran on, hearing the heavy booted footsteps of the thugs hard on her heels. No time for tricks or acrobatics here; there was even less time for running. Her breath was gone, and there was a stitch building in her side. She couldn't keep running. She'd have to face them, fight her way back…

Or hide.

It seemed an absurd idea for a second - hide? And wait to be found and chopped to pieces? But it was certainly a better option than running until she was exhausted.

Squirrel skidded, turned, and ducked down a narrow passageway, skipping crab-like between the two stone walls. The end of the passageways broadened into a square. Three streets branched off from where she stood. Heart pounding, Squirrel glanced at each one, allowing herself the luxury of taking the time to weigh her options. It was a luxury she could scarce afford. Xin Fu and his men were coming, their shouts amplified in the square, coming from one of the roads. But which one? If she took the wrong one, she'd end up right on Xin Fu's blade!

"Dammit!" Squirrel muttered, and ran back the way she'd come.

A tendril of smoke beckoned to her before she ducked back into the shadows. There was a fourth road, one she hadn't seen earlier. She leapt at it, and followed the trail of aromatic smoke. She heard Xin Fu barking orders - he was in the square now, and still on her tail.

A gold-and-red scalloped roof caught her attention. Two sinuous golden bodies of dragons coiled around a pair of red columns, and two stone lion-dogs bared their fangs out at Squirrel, warning her to stay away. Between these pillars and these guardians, a shadowed doorway leaked grey smoke, the same smoke that had called her before. Squirrel didn't have the time to think twice. She leapt into the darkness just as shouts rounded the corner behind her.

Two shrines were erected behind the doors to placid-faced saints of some kind. Squirrel ran around behind them. Behind these statues was a screen; behind this, a doorway yawned out into a small enclosed courtyard. Squirrel ran through without any hesitation. But once she was there, she pulled up short, choking back a gasp of surprise and alarm.

She had thought the courtyard empty. She was wrong.

Her gasp attracted the man's attention. He slowly turned from the shrine and brazier he was standing before, his face inscrutable. There was something hulking about him, something brutish, but there was a grace to him that belied that very notion. Every movement was deliberate and sure; the man seemed to move with a kind of liquid grace that did not seem possible in someone of his build or his age. His eyes - his eyes! - pinned her and held her. There was such indolent authority in his gaze that it sent shivers down Squirrel's spine.

Clearly, she was in the presence of a man to be respected. Squirrel hastily bowed, as she had seen Chinese women bow: her left hand open at waist level, her right fist punched into her left palm, and bending her body forward. But she kept her head up, and her eyes on the man. He nodded slightly back at her, then his eyes flickered to the doorway behind her.

Squirrel did what she'd sworn not to do. She looked over her shoulder.

The man in the alley had done the same, and it had cost him his life. Squirrel realised - too late - that she should not have looked back. She shouldn't have stopped running. Now, Xin Fu would catch her. Despairing, she turned back, hands moving to her blades to at least attempt to defend herself. At least, she intended to move her hands.

The man who had stood moments before at the brazier now loomed over Squirrel. He'd moved so quickly, so silently, Squirrel hadn't even heard him. Before Squirrel could gasp or betray herself with a noise, the brute put both hands on her shoulders, and pushed her to the side of the courtyard until he pinned her against the wall, in the shadow of a small alcove. Squirrel stumbled back, eyes wide, too frightened to wonder what would happen to her. But the man smiled - a cold cruel smile, but a smile nonetheless - and put a finger to his lips. The gesture was unmistakable, even in this strange culture. _Shh…_ And then he turned and went back to the brazier, and stared up at the shrine. Just as he had been doing before Squirrel had interrupted him.

All this had taken less than a moment. Squirrel had barely taken two breaths.

Xin Fu and his seven soldiers burst into the courtyard, snarling. Squirrel froze. She was certain the beat of her heart - which she heard thundering in her ears - would give her away. She quieted her breath, and prayed that the tiny alcove she was secreted in would keep her from the thug's eyes. She needn't have worried.

The man at the shrine did not turn, but his voice was cold, with a hint of a threat in it. "_You'd better have a very good reason for disturbing me, Xin Fu_."

The eight men blanched, and, as one, they all dropped to one knee, bowing their heads and averting their eyes. They looked like whipped curs now, not the wolves they'd been when chasing Squirrel.

"_Well_?"

"_Sir!_" Xin Fu looked almost sick, like he wished he could die right on the spot. "_We were chasing a foreigner, from that ship that came to the harbour two days ago_."

The man standing before the shrine did not move. "_One of the men, or the women?_"

"_One of the women, sir._"

Squirrel had never heard laughter like this before. So cruel, so mocking, so dangerous… The man at the shrine turned and faced a wincing Xin Fu, arms folded behind his back. "_So_," he laughed again, "_You are outwitted by a woman, then?_" He looked pointedly at one of the thugs - the one whom Squirrel had thrown her daggers at - and smiled in amusement. "_You let yourself be clawed by a woman's nails, did you_?" The thug discretely wiped a streak of blood from his eyes. The man laughed once more - and then his laughter stopped halfway. His eyes glittered like cold iron, and his lip curled in a sneer. "_What kind of men are you?_"

The thugs said nothing, humiliated.

All good humour was gone from the brute's face and voice. "_Use your brains_," he snarled, "_If you even have them. Would an _ang moh_ come here? No. This temple is hidden from them. The foreign girl is no doubt running through the streets back to her friends, laughing at your foolishness._"

Xin Fu lowered his head further, flushing with anger and humiliation.

"_Get out of my sight._" The brute turned back to the brazier. "_I need not remind you, Xin Fu, that any man who disturbs my prayers more than once faces a very unhappy afterlife. Understand?_"

"_Sir._" The men made a salute with their right fists pressed into their left palms. Silently, abjectly, they rose to their feet and backed out of the courtyard, heads bowed respectfully. All of them seemed relieved that they'd avoided punishment; all of them were glad to leave.

Squirrel waited where she was, still breathing hard. She dare not relax, not yet. She didn't know how safe she was. Even with the courtyard emptied of Xin Fu and his thugs, she still waited in silence, waiting for a signal that all was clear.

The man at the brazier smiled to himself, and looked askance at her. "You make a lot of trouble for yourself, _ang moh_," he said lightly, offhandedly, in very cultured - if not strangely accented - English. "Do you enjoy fleeing for your life?"

Squirrel gingerly stepped out of the shadows. "I try not to make a habit of it," she murmured, keeping one eye on the entrance to the courtyard. "But trouble seems to follow me wherever I go."

The man chuckled to himself, then turned to face Squirrel fully. Smoke from the incense burning in the brazier wreathed his shaven and scanned head, and lingered over the details in his clothes and armour. A wide mantle decorated with rosettes of beaten metal covered his shoulders. Symbols and Chinese characters were woven into the black silk of his clothes. A medallion hung from his neck, a strange symbol Squirrel had never seen before. Xin Fu had impressed Squirrel with the quality of his clothes and armour, but this man left the thug far behind. Xin Fu was scruffy, and wearing rags and tatters, compared to the practical finery this man wore.

With his hands still clasped behind his back, the man studied Squirrel carefully, thoughtfully; perhaps even more than she was studying him. It was as though he were not just examining what she looked like, but - if it was possible for a man to see such things - what lay upon her very soul.

"Why did you save me?" Squirrel asked, unsettled by the intensity of his eyes. "Who are you?"

The man made a sweeping gesture as he crossed the courtyard, though his eyes did not leave Squirrel for an instant. "So many questions, and this not being the place to answer any of them." He smiled at her, and pushed at one of the walls behind her. The whole section of the wall slid sideways - it had not been a wall, but a hidden door. "Come," he said, and motioned for Squirrel to enter.

Squirrel hesitated, and half-glanced over her shoulder. With Xin Fu, at least she knew he wanted her dead. With this man, she knew nothing. Would she be caged again, but this time unable to escape? Would she face a worse fate than death? She knew nothing. She did not know what to expect. She could not - she realised - read the man who'd saved her life. She had no inkling of his motives, his intentions, or even who he might be. He was like a shadow on a wall. Squirrel didn't even know his name.

"You will not be harmed," the man assured her, still holding the door wide. "I give my word."

Masking her reluctance and wariness, Squirrel nodded. If nothing else, she would trust him for saving her life. But she'd be on her guard. She stepped into the shadow of the hidden room, tendrils of smoke from the courtyard brazier clinging to her clothes and smothering her senses.

* * *

1 Hello, red-head/foreigner 

2 If you don't know this one, go back a chapter or two. Squirrel said it to him before.

3 'Shameless thing' - she's basically calling him not even human. Calling someone shameless is a pretty big insult

4 Come here!

5 Dog turd - a rather imaginative insult

**A/N**: Characterisation of this as-of-yet unnamed fellow is based on the character in _Curse of the Golden Flower_, which was an AWESOME movie. If the character is different in POTC3 I will amend, but I imagine he'll be just as he was in COTGF.

Also, HRM! Squirrel and Will? As always, suggestions, questions and reviews are much welcomed. And I have upwards of a hundred readers, so one review a chapter is just… not fair, people. Come on! Let me know if you love it or hate it or whateverz!


	29. No Names

**Disclaimer**: "There's naught been a disclaimer like this in our lifetime." "And I owe them all money."

**A/N**: I SAW THE TRAILER AND IT LOOKS SO KICK ASS. But at the same time, I'm wondering what the HELL is going to happen in the movie, because seriously all the cards are up in the air. I have no idea how anything's going to turn out. But that's all good! I am a little concerned about the reappearance of Scarlet and Giselle. How is that going to affect poor Squirrel? Anyhoo… Let's meet this mysterious friend of Squirrel's!

**This chapter could need to be changed when the movie comes out, as I am using the spoiler script for these sections. I shall edit the story, if that's the case.**

* * *

"Are you her?" 

There was a painting on one of the walls. It was a huge, coiled, writhing dragon, with a fanged gaping maw and a fiery beard encircling its head. It bore many similarities to the snake that was on the '_shou_'-bottle's stopper. Perhaps the two were one and the same. At the man's question, however, Squirrel turned away from the artwork.

"I…" To say the question threw her was an understatement. "I beg your pardon?"

His dark eyes were hard and piercing. It did not seem as though he'd heard her. "Are you her?" He asked again, his voice demanding and urgent, his eyes boring holes into her. When Squirrel hesitated, the man's lips tightened into what might have been an impatient frown, and his eyes narrowed. He pressed closer to Squirrel, peering into her eyes searchingly. Squirrel forced herself to hold her ground, to not back away from the man, even though he was coming too close for comfort.

"I don't know what you mean," she told him.

The man seemed a little disappointed. He looked to be weighing his options, making some internal decision. Then he pulled back from her. "We were told," he said, still considering Squirrel carefully, "That a ship would come from the West, bearing those who sought to bring a man back from the dead." Squirrel's skin crawled. Tia was right - they _had_ been expected. And the Dragon Lady knew _exactly_ why they were here, too. The man continued, "On that ship would come… a certain woman. Wild and untamed as the ocean wind, forceful as the tide, and as beautiful and deadly as the storm." The man paused, looking thoughtful, and raised one eyebrow. "She would hide amongst these: the virgin, the bride and the whore." He tilted his head, almost smiling. "Which of these are you?"

"I don't follow you," Squirrel frowned. "_Wo bu ming ji_."1

The man's other eyebrow rose up to join its brother when he heard the Chinese words crossing Squirrel's lips. "I see," he said, showing no other sign of surprise. "Then I ask this. Of the women who came on your ship, who is who? Who is the virgin, who is the bride, and who is the whore?"

Squirrel frowned, her mind working at the riddle. "Well, Miss Swann would be the bride…" _Obviously, despite her recent conquest_.

"Ah?" The man leaned forward, eyes shining. "And which woman is Miss Swann?"

Something killed the words in her mouth. Despite the fact that there was no love lost between herself and Miss Swann, she wasn't about to sell Elizabeth out to a complete stranger. There was something bigger in store for the governor's daughter. "One of them," Squirrel answered evasively.

The man seemed to understand the reasoning behind her answer, and smirked. His fingers pulled at the strange medallion he wore; he motioned with his free hand for Squirrel to continue.

Squirrel hesitated a moment, thinking. She was the virgin, there was no doubt about that. She bit her tongue to keep from blushing. But process of elimination meant that Tia would be the whore. Yet Tia seemed - by all accounts, though there was no proof - chaste. Except, of course, for that dress of hers, baring her shoulders, arms and ankles. Squirrel was no prude, but Tia seemed shameless in regards to her choice of clothing. Yet was the riddle all that simple? Tia was a whore because of the way she dressed?

_But what is it whores do? Aside from the obvious…_ She frowned in thought, and found the answer very quickly: _They sell themselves_. And Tia was certainly a whore in that regard. Squirrel had told this to Gibbs not that long ago. Tia had knowledge at her command - knowledge beyond most mortal comprehension, it could be argued - and yet she'd sell it to whoever came and paid the price. If that wasn't the behaviour of a whore, what was?

"Which are you?" The man asked, barely masking his impatience.

"The virgin," Squirrel answered, then blushed scarlet. She should have bore the title with pride - after all, she'd come from Tortuga. Every woman she'd ever known there sold herself on the streets; Squirrel alone worked a different kind of night. Not to mention the fact that she'd spent months at sea on a ship full of men, and still managed retain her virtue. Even when Captain Jack Sparrow lived, she'd remained untouched. But she blushed all the same. To be speaking about something so personal to a complete stranger - a man, even! - was galling. And very dangerous.

The man raised a teasing eyebrow, and looked intrigued. "Ah." He smiled to himself, and looked Squirrel up and down, a renewed interest - a new lust - sparkling in his eyes. "Truly?" He was no longer looking at her soul, but at the curve of her breasts under her shirt, the pinch of her waist, the shape of her legs. And he apparently liked what he saw.

Squirrel grit her teeth. "If you have no other questions for me, I will not stay here and be insulted."

The man stepped aside to let her pass. "If you do not wish to stay, _ang moh_, then I will not stop you." He looked bored now, as though what he'd said previously was of no consequence.

Squirrel halted before she'd even taken a step. She looked at the man, frowning. "Wait, that's it? You saved me from Xin Fu, just so I could answer a riddle?" There was surely more to this. Surely. Her frown deepened, and she remembered the way the question had been asked. "Who is 'we'? You said 'we were told'." She looked carefully at the man in front of her. "Who are you?"

The man smiled benignly, and clasped his hands behind his back. He motioned to the picture on the wall with his head. "Do you know much about dragons, _ang moh_? Chinese dragons, not English ones."

Squirrel frowned, and shook her head.

"They are one of the four celestial guardians," the man said, turning to examine the painting; Squirrel noted a dragon tattoo over the man's right ear, on his shaven head. "They guard the Northern skies; they command the weather; they have great wisdom. And they are a symbol of power, of royalty." He turned back to Squirrel. "In China, the old ways have been forgotten with the coming of the white man's ships and the poison of opium. But here, in Singapore, the old ways are strong, and will never be forgotten. The dragon still rules here."

"The Dragon Lady." Squirrel nodded, thinking she understood.

"_Bu shir_,"2 the man held up an admonishing finger. "The dragon is a symbol of authority… for men. For women, the royal symbol is that of the phoenix. You know this bird, yes? The one which rises from flames anew?" When Squirrel nodded, the man turned back to the painting. "The old ways are still strong here," he said, resuming his train of thought. "The dragon still rules. But it rules in an imperfect vessel; a reflection of turbulent times. She calls herself Dragon Lady - the ultimate power, the undisputed authority. But she chooses for her symbol and name a man's emblem."

"Because she has to be as strong as a man to keep hold of her power," Squirrel said, coming to stand beside the man, examining the painting with him. "Because without it, she - and Singapore - are nothing. So she has to become something more than she should be to defend what she has."

The man said nothing for a long while. "_Shir_,"3 he said finally, not quite smiling. "You have a very quick mind, foreigner."

"You still haven't answered my question."

The man turned and looked down at Squirrel - he was a head taller than her. "Though the Dragon Lady holds her power, she is, as I said, an imperfect vessel. She needs Eyes to see for her, Ears to hear for her, Hands to reach where she cannot go and bring close to her that which is far away, Fists to strike what displeases her." The man smiled, and Squirrel was struck by the sudden coldness in his eyes. "And a Mouth to speak for her."

"We were told she cannot speak," Squirrel frowned, wary.

"She cannot." The man shrugged. "Not in the sense of you or I, as we are speaking now. Her Mouth speaks for her." He made a small bow, and his lips pulled into what might have been a smile.

Squirrel was suddenly aware of the giant curved sword that the man carried. It looked very heavy, and probably required two hands to use. Given that kind of force, it could probably cleave a man in two. "You must be a very important man, then," she said, dragging her eyes back to the painting, "To have the Dragon Lady hold you in such close confidence."

"Perhaps she has no choice?" The man suggested, moving closer. "Perhaps I hold her prisoner?"

"Perhaps," Squirrel said, uneasily. "But it's not our concern, is it? We're not here to meddle in politics. We're just foolish _guai lo_, who have come to seek the Lady's aid."

"Yes?" The man smiled. "And who is it that the _guai lo_ send to ask the Dragon Lady for her aid? Who is the virgin that stands before me? What is her name?"

Squirrel frowned. Did she trust this man? Not one bit. Would she give him her real name? No. Even if she knew it, no. "_Songshu Hui_," she answered, giving her name in literal Chinese.

The man chuckled at her error. "Your name in Chinese would be the last name first. And when it comes to colours, you must add '_se_' on the end. _Hui-se Songshu_."4

"I'm still learning," Squirrel said, looking hard at the man. "And you are?"

He smiled cunningly. "You give me your name in Chinese, so I will give you mine in English. Sweeping Wind."

Squirrel's breath caught in her throat. The pieces clicked into place like mah-jong tiles. The armour. The insignia on the medallion. The way Xin Fu and his thugs had dropped to their knees. The indolent authority in his eyes and bearing. The compulsion she'd felt to bow before him. The giant sword. The Dragon Lady's Mouth. They way her head had throbbed when she'd first arrived in Singapore. _Sweeping Wind_.

"_Sao Feng_," she gasped, eyes wide. "You're Sao Feng."

The Chinese pirate overlord - no longer just a brute or a stranger - smiled placidly. "_Shir. Hao le, Songshu. Hao le, hao le_."5

The warnings she'd been given rang in her ears, pushing her out the door, but the curiosity that was Pandora's legacy made Squirrel hesitate and remain where she stood. "Why… why are you…"

"Talking to you? Not killing you?" Sao Feng pulled at his beard, and smiled. "Perhaps I am bored, and this is my way of entertaining myself. Perhaps your beauty compels me. Perhaps I dislike being the Dragon Lady's lapdog. Perhaps I wish to take her power for my own. Or perhaps fate, or destiny, has brought you to me. Why does it matter?" He examined his nails - they were long and claw-like, and gave Squirrel a short burst of creeping horrors - then looked up again. "What is it that you seek? What are you looking for, that you should travel so far from home?"

"Charts," Squirrel said, evenly. "Sea-charts that will lead us to Davy Jones' Locker."

Surprise widened his eyes. "You ask a lot, _ang moh_," Sao Feng said, fingering the medallion he wore. "I do not know if what you want lies in the Lady's possession."

"I was assured that they were."

Sao Feng tilted his head, intrigued. "By whom?"

Squirrel smiled back, but didn't answer. "Can you help us, or not?"

Sao Feng pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. Finally, he said, slowly, "I will inform the Dragon Lady of your request, but I can promise you nothing. The Dragon Lady's power is immense and unquestionable," he added, without inflection. He may have been talking about the weather, "And she will not relinquish what you seek without a fight. While I have authority as her Mouth, I cannot promise that this authority will aid you." He shrugged.

Squirrel sighed, disappointed. _So much for that_.

"However." Sao Feng pulled at his beard, smiling a smile that had shades of cruelty across it. "As merely a man, and not as her Mouth… I may be able to help you, _Songshu_, with much more than just words." He looked thoughtfully at Squirrel, smirking to himself. "The Dragon Lady is the power here. But power shifts like sand. If you wish to gain what you seek, then you will need to win her favour."

"And how do we do that?" Squirrel asked, feeling a surge of excitement.

Sao Feng held up a hand and chuckled. "One step at a time, _xin songshu_,6 One step at a time. First, I will see if I can help you." He tilted his head. "But should it be possible… what kind of deal can you propose in return? I am willing to help you get what you - and your friends - seek." He smiled again, but it was not a warm smile. It was cold, calculated. "But can we bargain?"

"Bargain?" Squirrel glanced briefly at the door. "Bargain with what? I don't have anything. None of us do."

"Yes," the Chinese pirate said wryly, "I noted that your ship left late last night. So now you have no escape."

"Or a dedication to stay until we get what we came for," Squirrel said, folding her arms and putting on a bravado she neither felt nor believed.

"The bargain, then, is this," Sao Feng said calmly, coolly, "We will give you what you seek… and, in return, you bring us what you find."

_More riddles_, Squirrel scowled inwardly. But it was a simple enough one to answer. "You want Jack? Why?"

Sao Feng's amicable smile seemed a little forced now, "Captain Jack Sparrow… has been here before." Squirrel was a little surprised to hear that the Chinese pirate knew Jack's whole name, until she heard the rest of the sentence. "And on his previous visit, he has… insulted… the Dragon Lady. She wishes to speak to him about this."

Squirrel ducked her head slightly, stopping short of smacking her face with her palm. _Brilliant, Jack. Once again, we're picking up the pieces of the things you break_.

"She wants him alive, of course."

"She and all the other people he owes money to," Squirrel said morosely, "As well as every whore that ever walked the night." She realised, too late, what her tone and expression had given away, and she couldn't eat her words.

"Ah?" Sao Feng raised an eyebrow. "So you mourn for the sparrow, _dui bu dui_?"7

"Mourn?" Squirrel forced a laugh. "Hardly. Why mourn him, if he's not dead?"

Sao Feng reached out, and fingered the embroidered collar of Squirrel's shirt. "Yet you wear this?"

"What's wrong with it?" Squirrel pulled slightly out of the man's reach. His over-familiarity was unsettling; frightening.

Sao Feng smiled. "In the West, I believe black is worn to honour the dead. Yet here, in the East, mourning colours are blue and white." _Let the devil wear black_, the words came from Squirrel's memory, from a story she knew like the back of her hand, _For I'll have a suit of sables!_ She tightened her lips and said nothing.

Sao Feng fingered the sleeve, then the hem of Squirrel's shirt, where the patterns of white thread were thickest on the blue cloth. Both his hands closed for a moment around her waist, and Squirrel practically jumped out of his reach. There was a flicker of a smile about Sao Feng's lips, and something teasing in the way he drew his hands slowly back. Squirrel stared the pirate down, defiant despite the redness of her cheeks. No-one had ever touched her like that before, and this man had certainly no right to do so now.

"You are not the only one that mourns," Sao Feng said, his expression sobering, as though Squirrel were the one committing the slight, and not he. "We all lose someone as spring turns to winter. That is just the way that life is." He slid aside the door and stepped out into the morning sunshine, then stood before the brazier of incense in front of the shrine. After a second's hesitation, Squirrel followed after him, sliding the panel back in place as she did so.

Sao Feng didn't even look up, but somehow he knew she was at his shoulder. "My father," he said simply, before she could ask. "He did not die willingly. I pray so that his ghost may one day find rest."

"He's a ghost?" Squirrel murmured, for once not scoffing at superstitions. This was neither the time nor the place to do such a thing.

"Of course." Sao Feng shrugged his broad shoulders. "Why else do you think I pray for him?"

Squirrel said nothing. How could she possibly answer that? For all that the cultures were worlds apart, the similarities were very noticeable. Though Squirrel was no Catholic, she knew that many believed that prayers for the dead would free them from purgatory. It seemed the same here, where a soul could be calmed by the remembrances of the living.

Sao Feng took an unlit stick of incense, touched it to one of the flames, then planted it in the bowl, in the ash of a thousand expended incense sticks. The flame died quickly, but the tip glowed and sent up a continuously-curling, serpent-like trail of sweet-smelling smoke. Both stood in silence a moment, watching the smoke rise and the incense turn to ash. Then Sao Feng turned. "Do you find the bargain agreeable?"

Squirrel half-shrugged, not knowing how she felt. "I suppose. But we'll be hard-pressed to force Jack Sparrow to return, I think. He doesn't like to be caged."

"No," Sao Feng smirked, amused, "No more than you do, I imagine."

_That's the second time someone has said something along those lines_, Squirrel frowned slightly.

Sao Feng shook his head, as though in an internal dialogue, then met Squirrel's eyes. "Speak to me tomorrow, _Songshu_. There is a temple on the western harbour. I will be there at noon to say prayers for my father."

Squirrel felt both elated and cheated. On one hand, she'd found someone who was going to help her. They were one step closer already! On the other hand, though, had anything really been accomplished? Some vague promise made, some un-agreed-upon deal set down; that was all. Nothing solid. Just words.

Sao Feng was watching her, waiting. Squirrel nodded. "Alright," she said. "Noon. Temple at the western harbour. I'll be there."

"And alone," Sao Feng added, his lips hinting a smile.

Something in Squirrel rebelled; some self-preserving instinct lifted its head inside her. "Alone? Why?"

"Because I am making the deal with _you_," There was a firmness in his voice, but something serpentine in his eyes. "Do you really wish to tell your captain about this meeting?" He narrowed his eyes shrewdly. "Can you?"

Squirrel opened her mouth to protest her loyalty, but halted. No. She couldn't tell Barbossa. She couldn't tell anyone. She'd gone out, alone, and was talking to a man that she'd been warned against even crossing paths with. She wouldn't be able to say anything. She was in this alone. She had no choice.

"I don't know if I'll be able to sneak away a second time," Squirrel said, warily, testing how far she could go, testing how safe she might be.

"Then I will make arrangements for you." His smile lingered, while his eyes roved.

"Thankyou," Squirrel said, unnecessarily, for she wasn't thankful at all. "But what about you? Are you to tell the Dragon Lady about meeting the _guai lo_ girl?"

Sao Feng chuckled, and shook his head. "I trust your discretion, _Songshu_. As you trust mine." He tilted his head, amused. "We play the same side of the board. Silent and unseen by those we serve."

Squirrel rubbed her knuckles along the stones of her necklace. "Maybe."

"No names," Sao Feng added, after a thoughtful pause. "If we must use names… _wo shi ni de ge-ge, ni shi wo de mei-mei_."8

Brother and sister. It seemed ironic enough, and brought a wry smile to Squirrel's lips. Conspiracy made its participants as close as a family. "Of course, _ge-ge_." She glanced at the sky. The light was continuing to brighten. Soon, her friends would rise and go down for breakfast. She'd have to hurry back to the inn before she was missed. "How do I get to the Lantern Tavern from here?"

"Follow the sunlit road," Sao Feng smiled, eyes tracing the shape of her face, "Turn south, and walk towards the sound of the sea. It will be easy to find your way back from there."

Squirrel bobbed a thankyou, then turned to go.

"It is a pity you think little of yourself, _mei-mei_," Sao Feng called. "With your beauty, you could command a high price. From any man you wanted."

Squirrel flushed, and halted. "_Bu xie xie_9_, ge-ge_," she muttered. "I've no interest in that profession." She clenched a fist. "And there are women far more beautiful than me. I'm nothing."

Sao Feng looked a little surprised at the vehemence in Squirrel's eyes and expression, but he smiled. "It is a great pity," he murmured wistfully, "That you should believe so." He half-shrugged. "Should you ever change your mind, _xin songshu_, let me know."

Squirrel left the courtyard, the temple, on swift silent feet, counting the paces she made in order to distract from the whirl in her head and clenching of her stomach.

* * *

1 I don't understand. 

2 No (literally, 'isn't.')

3 Yes (Lit. 'is')

4 Literally, grey-coloured Squirrel.

5 Yes. Well done, Squirrel, well done.

6 Little squirrel

7 Isn't that so? (lit. 'Yes, no?')

8 I am your older brother, you are my younger sister

9 No thank you

**A/N**: I've been looking for a place to use the 'virgin, bride and whore' line ever since Cape Horn. Yay for the opportunity Sao Feng gave me! I apologise if my Chinese is atrocious. I'm doing the best I can.

If this chapter needs to be edited, I will post a big fat **EDIT** sign on it. And I think I need to make some fixer-uppers here. Depends on how the movie churns itself out :D


	30. A Friend Of Mine

**Disclaimer**: Why should I sail with you? Four of you tried to kill me in the past. Disclaimer of you succeeded.

**A/N**: More reliance on the spoiler script. I've decided - from the responses from the last post - that I'm just going to deus ex machina the inaccuracies away. Unless they are hugely obvious, like Singapore.

* * *

A cool breeze was sweeping through from the harbour when Squirrel neared the tavern. Squirrel unbuttoned her shirt and stood in the wind's path for a moment. The breeze cut through her sailor's vest, lessening the heat that smothered the whole land. _A sweeping wind_, she thought, and laughed to herself. 

There was a flutter of wings, and Squirrel turned her head. In a tree by the tavern, two crows perched on a branch, also enjoying the breeze. Squirrel smiled at the birds.

"One for sorrow, two for joy," she snorted with laughter. "Gibbs'd be glad to see you."

One of the crows lifted up into the air, winging away on the breeze over the rooftops. The second bird watched the first go, then turned its dark head towards Squirrel. It gave four short, barking cries: '_kra gra-gra-gra_'. Squirrel's smile swiftly turned to surprise; was the bird laughing at her? The crow turned its head, its mocking done, and with a clatter of wings followed after its kin. Squirrel frowned slightly as the black feathered shadow vanished out of sight.

_Good thing I don't believe in omens_, she told herself, and shivered from what must have been the cool of the breeze.

"Where have you been?" Barbossa said, frowning as Squirrel entered the tavern.

Squirrel smiled, a little sheepishly. "I went down to the beach. To watch the sunrise."

Barbossa was not appeased. "Alone? Did ye not hear what I said before, angel?"

"I know," Squirrel said, sighing. "But I couldn't bring myself to wake anyone." The monkey leapt from Barbossa's shoulder and scrambled over to her. She scooped the primate up, and let him perch on her shoulder. The monkey cooed, interested by the jade ornament hanging from her earring, and gently played with it.

Barbossa shook his head and sighed, still looking stern. "Angel, I put those rules down fer a reason. Ye should know that ye need t' exercise more than the usual amount of caution here. Barbossa, paused and looked a little tired. "Ye're a foreign delicacy in these waters." Squirrel laughed, unable to help herself. Barbossa's eyes darkened slightly. "This is no laughin' matter, angel."

Squirrel shrugged, grinning. "The simple fact that men would find me attractive is a laughing matter, sir."

"I didn't say they'd find ye attractive. I just said they'd see ye as a foreign delicacy."

Squirrel smile faded to nothing very quickly. That explained Sao Feng's actions somewhat. To men from the Caribbean, a China-woman was something exotic. It only seemed natural that the reverse would be true here. "Duly warned."

"I should hope so." Barbossa folded his arms. "While ye were out watchin' the sun rise, someone might've taken ye, and none would be the wiser. Not somethin' that should e'er happen, for all our sakes." He noticed the monkey toying with Squirrel's earring, and frowned; his eye caught sight of the red knot on her dagger and the string of coins hanging from her belt soon after. "If ye just went down t' the beach, where'd you pick up these?"

Squirrel smiled, having the story already well-prepared. "I found someone who can help us."

Barbossa's eyes flicked to Squirrel's chest a moment, and his eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Squirrel looked down, and saw the blank space in the knife belt. Three of her throwing daggers were missing. The three she'd embedded in a Chinese thug's face.

She shrugged at the captain. "I ran out of money." The swift lie saved her.

Barbossa raised an eyebrow. "Go on," he said, waiting for the explanation.

So Squirrel told him the story she'd concocted. She'd gone down to the beach to watch the sunrise, and a pedlar had come up to her, offering her good luck charms. At first, she'd refused, because what point are good luck charms? But then the pedlar had mentioned the name of the man they were seeking: Captain Jack Sparrow. The pedlar had told Squirrel that he might know of a way to get the charts from the Dragon Lady, and that he would meet again with Squirrel at noon. Squirrel had bought the charms from the pedlar, as a matter of camouflage. The pedlar was fearful of retribution from the Dragon Lady, and had thus demanded such a smokescreen.

"Did ye get a name?" Barbossa asked, face betraying nothing.

Squirrel shook her head, wondering if Barbossa really believed what she was telling him. "No," she said, holding Barbossa's eyes, "I didn't."

Barbossa gave a 'hrmph'. "I tend not t' trust a man who won't give ye his name."

"Like the captain of the _Diana_?" Squirrel tilted her head, amused.

Barbossa smiled back. "Aye. Like that." Then he frowned. "He wants t' see ye again, ye say?" Squirrel nodded, scratching behind the monkey's ears. "Well, I've no disagreement," The man in black said amicably, "But ye'll not go alone this time. Take someone from the crew with ye."

Squirrel tensed slightly. _Not good_. "What?"

Barbossa looked at her levelly, well-aware of her reluctance. "Your safety's a concern, angel. Ye may have been able t' avoid some kind of incident this time, but there's no tellin' how trustworthy your contact is. Fer all we know, he might have been sent by the Dragon Lady t' trap ye. Take whatever promises he's made with a grain of salt. And I suggest ye take someone with ye when ye go t' meet him."

Squirrel listened with half an ear. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Will descending the staircase, silently eavesdropping. The expression on his face was dark and thoughtful, and his eyes were a silent beacon to Squirrel.

"Of course," Squirrel nodded to Barbossa. "I was going to."

Barbossa pulled his lips in such a manner which suggested that he didn't think so. He held his arm out, and the monkey leapt from Squirrel's shoulder back to his master's. "Tread carefully, angel," Barbossa said, turning away. "Sharks don't just patrol the waters, y'know."

"I know," Squirrel said, frowning, "Believe me. I know."

Will finished coming down the stairs, and nodded to Barbossa as he passed. Barbossa nodded in return, then started climbing the stairs.

Squirrel nodded her greeting, "Good morning, Mister Turner." She heard the taunting voice at her shoulder laugh faintly, an echo from last night; she remembered how the coin had landed between her feet. She bit her tongue to keep her face blank.

"And to you as well, Miss Grey," Will said, half-watching Barbossa's exit. Once Barbossa was vanished up the stairs, neither Squirrel nor Will moved until they heard the door close. Only then did they meet each other's eyes.

"How much did you hear?" Squirrel asked Will, her voice in an undertone.

"All of it," Will said, "Since you came in." He paused a moment, then pulled up a chair and sat down at one of the tables. "You really think this… person… will help us?"

"I'm adopting a 'wait-and-see' stance," Squirrel whispered, sitting down opposite Will. "If he proves himself later today, then there won't be any problem." She paused a moment, thoughtful, then added, "Maybe."

Will nodded, then seemed to be lost in thought. Finally, he lifted his head, his eyes conflicted. He seemed torn between concern, fear, hope and relief. Whatever he wanted to say, he had trouble framing. But finally, he said, "You weren't in your room last night."

Squirrel hoped her face didn't betray her. He'd gone to her room? She'd told him not to. Yet… he'd gone regardless. Squirrel remembered how late she'd been on the beach, and how she'd seen the light on in his room. He'd been awake, just as she'd been. With thoughts of treachery? _Just the mutiny_, Squirrel told herself. _Just the mutiny_.

_Just a different kind of mutiny_, something snickered.

The thought surprised Squirrel, and almost scared her. She'd felt guilty that she could even let her thoughts stray so far in such a direction. Yet, judging from the look in Will's eyes now, she wasn't alone in such wanderings. In the dark, a voice had laughed from Squirrel's shoulder. She'd fought that plaguing demon, but had run before the battle had been lost. Had Will fought his own battle, with his own demon? And had he lost? How fortuitous, then, that Squirrel had been down on the beach wrestling with her thoughts, instead of tossing in her bed. Neither she nor he would have been able to fight as allies. Not like this. Not in this fight.

Squirrel held Will's gaze, but said the only thing she could: "Just as well." And then, as an addendum to show she understood, she murmured, "For Elizabeth."

Will looked surprised, then bowed his head. "Y… Yes." He nodded, eyes locking with Squirrel's, colour at his face as much as at hers. "Yes."

"Did I hear someone say my name?" Elizabeth came out from the kitchens, a half-eaten _pao_ in one hand. Squirrel and Will both rose to their feet, unintentionally and simultaneously.

"Where did you get that shirt?" Squirrel asked, staring.

Elizabeth fingered the fabric. "This? Oh, last night. Tia and I went shopping for some scarves, and I saw this and just had to have it." She beamed, then half-turned, showing off to the both of them. "How does it look?"

"It looks… beautiful on you." Squirrel said. And she wasn't exaggerating. The dark green silk complemented Miss Swann's honeyed skin and golden hair beautifully; the Chinese collar and embroidery suited her just the same. Squirrel felt a twinge of jealousy once again.

"Thankyou. I thought so too. I've never had silks so fine. Or so cheap, for that matter." Elizabeth made a bobbing curtsy, smiling, then turned her attention to Will. "What do you think, Will?" She half-posed; Will stood silent.

Squirrel looked between the two, then hurriedly elbowed Will in the ribs. "Go on, Mister Turner, tell your fiancée how ravishing she looks." Will flinched at the physical jab, but kept his eyes down. Squirrel looked back to Elizabeth and shrugged. "Well, Lizzie, it seems you've still the power to leave your beloved speechless. Congratulations, you lucky thing." Inwardly, she wanted to hit Will again. Was he going to ruin everything with his brooding? But then, she reconsidered; with what Will had just admitted - and Squirrel too - was it any wonder his thoughts were a little out of order?

Elizabeth smiled back, but the smile didn't quite meet her eyes. She looked to Will, a little puzzled. Sensing a storm brewing, Squirrel braced her smile a little wider. "Lizzie? Can I braid your hair?"

"What?" Elizabeth looked around. "Oh, yes. If you want to."

Squirrel motioned for Elizabeth to sit down next to Will. "It's just," she explained, "It seems to be the style here. All the women on the island have braids and wear fine silks. Who knows? Maybe you'll start a wave of interest in Chinese garments when you return to Port Royal."

Elizabeth sat down, eyes distant. "Port Royal. Yes. Of course." She finished off her _pao_, looking anything but glad about the prospect of returning home. Like home was too small now that she'd seen the world.

Squirrel combed her fingers through the woman's wild golden hair, biting her tongue and smiling too broadly.

"What were you two talking about?" Elizabeth asked, directing her question to Will. Will leaned against the back of the chair, and half-shrugged.

Squirrel stepped in to salvage the situation once again. "I was just telling Will about how I found someone who'll help us," she smiled, twisting the golden strands of Elizabeth's hair between her fingers.

"Really? Well, that's good news."

"I know. I'm seeing him again today at noon."

"Be careful."

"I intend to be."

Will spoke at last. "I don't think you should leave without another lesson with the sword, Miss Grey," he interrupted, "We haven't practiced for a while."

Squirrel saw Elizabeth's shoulders tense, and half-frowned at Will. "What about Elizabeth?" She asked him. "You haven't sparred with your fiancée in a while, Mister Turner." Will looked a little caught out, but she didn't give him the chance to say anything. "And Lizzie," Squirrel tilted to look down into the woman's face, "You did tell me you wanted to fight with William. Here's your chance!" She smiled pleasantly at them both. "How about it, William? Skip a lesson with me, and spar with your future wife instead?"

Will saw the warning in Squirrel's eyes, and nodded with a forced smile. "Of course. I'm sorry," he murmured to Elizabeth, "It's just that Miss Grey was learning, and…"

"Excuses later, William, and agreements now," Squirrel said, finishing off the braid and tying it with a scrap of cloth Elizabeth passed her. "Lizzie? Is that alright with you?"

"Of course."

"William?"

"Yes."

"There, then!" Squirrel stepped back and beamed at them both. "It's settled. Go out and enjoy yourselves!"

Will glanced at Elizabeth. "I'll get our swords." He vanished up the staircase silently.

Elizabeth looked at Squirrel, smiling faintly. "Thankyou."

Squirrel shrugged, her smile gone. "Not a problem." She looked at Elizabeth, envious. The braid just made Elizabeth look even more beautiful; strands of hair too short to be bound back framed her face with nonchalant loveliness. Was there no possible way of making this young woman ugly, or at the very least, plain? _Some people have all the luck…_ "You need to spend more time with him anyway. Especially if you're to spend the rest of your life together."

Elizabeth must have heard something in Squirrel's tone. "Are you alright?" She looked at Squirrel with concern.

Squirrel shrugged, uncomfortable. "I'm just thinking how lucky you are, that's all. To have a man like William who loves you so."

Time and distance hadn't removed Elizabeth's guilt; it flickered in her eyes a moment. "Yes. I'm very fortunate."

Squirrel nodded, and turned away abruptly. "Hope you two have a fair time."

"Squirrel…"

She turned back. "Yes?"

Elizabeth looked on the verge of saying something more, but lacked the mettle to say it. She smiled weakly, instead, and asked, "Would you like me to braid your hair? With this heat and all, it might be best…"

"No thank you," Squirrel said, "I think I'll leave it as is." She turned again, and spotted Pintel and Ragetti coming down the stairs, bickering as usual. A plan stirred in her mind. Fixing a smile on her face, she went over and greeted them, leaving Elizabeth behind. "Mornin', boys!"

"Morning!" Ragetti said cheerfully.

Pintel fixed her with a wary eye. "You're not going to drag us out shopping again, are you?"

Squirrel laughed. "Of course not! At least, not yet." Pintel groaned. "Oh, stop it," she scolded. "It won't be far. And we won't leave until after we've all had breakfast. 'Sides," she shrugged, still smiling, "We're going to meet a friend of mine."

"A friend?" Ragetti wrinkled his nose, curious. "You made a friend?"

"Yeah, I did." She tapped the side of her nose. "And this friend of mine's going to get us those charts Tia mentioned."

Pintel didn't particularly seem to care. "It'll only be a short outing, right?"

"Of course. I wouldn't want to be out in the noonday sun more than I have to be."

"What? No!" Pintel groaned again. "Noon'll be too hot to even be breathing out there!"

"Exactly what those men with axes will think! It's the perfect time to be about, because no-one's going to try and attack us." Squirrel stood between them, draping an arm over each of their shoulders. She ended up a little lopsided as a result, seeing as how Pintel was shorter than her and Ragetti was taller. "But of course, should someone try anything, I've got you two strapping gentlemen to fight for me, right?" She gave her most winning smile.

Pintel puffed up a little bit. "Yeah. Yeah, 'course you do!"

But Ragetti looked nervous. "Cap'n Barbossa said groups of two or four."

"Three's a perfect number," Squirrel assured him, "Because it's right in the middle of that." She tilted her head, and smiled coyly. "Please?"

It didn't take more than that to convince them.

**

* * *

A/N**: Sorry about the shortness. I'll make it up to you. The thing with the crows actually happened to me when I was in Singapore. I swear, it was laughing at me. _Straight at me_. 

Reviews get hugs and cookies.


	31. Orchid

**Disclaimer**: You know they face disclaimer.

**A/N**: Now that I've gotten a good look around the POTC3 website, I think I've got a few more pieces of the story figured out. Unfortunately, a good chunk of my previous writing had to be scrapped! I'll try and rewrite it as best I can, because I poured my heart and soul into those chapters -_weeps_- (Insert scoff about crazy artistic types here). You know, I could solve everything right now by refusing to write any more until the movie, but then what would happen? You'd get angry, that's what! Or bored of waiting for me to update. Heheh.

* * *

Gulls called noisily as they winged overhead, much louder than the fishwives and hawkers that lined the streets closest to the water. The western harbour was resting, somewhat; the people who worked there were sluggish from the heat, relaxing in the shade or in various shop- and teahouses. 

Squirrel and her two bodyguards drifted from street to street; the latter were tired out already, but were determined not to show it, while the former had her eyes scanning the rooftops, looking for a rising pillar of aromatic smoke.

"Where's your friend going to meet us?" Ragetti asked, wiping his face with his coat sleeve.

"Somewhere around here," Squirrel said, catching sight of a gold-and-red scalloped roof. "Come on, let's head for some shade."

They ducked through a side street, and their eyes - used to the glare of the bright sun - were momentarily blinded by the shadows from between the buildings. Squirrel shook her head and closed her eyes, trying to reorient herself. When she opened her eyes, she smiled. At the end of the street stood a doorway, guarded by dragons coiled on red pillars and a pair of snarling lion-dog statues, similar to the doorway from this morning. This was it. This was the temple where Sao Feng was going to meet her. Squirrel's smile faded slightly. Now, how was she to lose Pintel and Ragetti, without either of them getting suspicious?

"_Ni hao_, sailor-man!"

A woman was leaning languidly on the wall of the street, her porcelain face innocent and almost childish. Yet from her clothes - a fine black silk dress, embroidered with dragons and bound with a bright red sash about her waist - she was clearly a grown woman. And a very attractive one at that. She smiled, her lips curving slightly, and she fluttered a paper fan at her face. "You so han-sum," she simpered, looking coyly up from under her makeup-darkened lashes. "You think I pretty?"

Pintel grinned, almost leering at the woman. "Sure, darlin'. You very pretty."

The woman moved away from the wall, seemingly floating towards the man. "And my friends?" She made a motion with her fan, and five more girls appeared from the shadows, all dressed in black and carrying paper fans. A cloud of perfume followed them. All of the women had the same red sash around their waists. Ragetti made a choking noise in his throat and wobbled a bit where he stood. Even Pintel looked a little surprised, but no less pleased.

"_Ni hao_," the girls all chorused, bowed, and fluttered around the two pirates, murmuring and giggling to each other.

Squirrel was working hard not to turn on her heel and huff. These foreign girls had no shame at all, did they? They didn't even seem to notice she was there, though she was standing right behind her two friends. Pintel and Ragetti seemed to have forgotten she even existed! But how could they not, with those whores flaunting themselves and… _oh, good heavens_. Squirrel turned her eyes away, but Pintel and Ragetti seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves.

"Stay with us?" One of the girls asked. "Have good time?"

The two men didn't seem to have any objection. Squirrel glared at the back of their heads, but they didn't notice. The girls gathered like a cloud around the two men, and their delicate hands strayed wherever they would.

Then one of the whores turned and looked dead at Squirrel, with eyes as hard and cold as jade.

Squirrel jolted. A minute ago, this woman had been childish and gurgling. Yet her eyes now were like the eyes of someone paid to kill. Like someone used to spilling blood. And the red silk sash she wore entertained that notion very vividly. While the cloud of girls behind her floated and laughed, lost in debauchery, the whore with cold eyes held Squirrel's gaze. Then, she made a small nod. A greeting.

Squirrel - after a moment - nodded back.

The whore jerked her head slightly, in the direction of the temple, then turned back and lavished her attention on the dumbstruck men, cooing and laughing just like all the others. Squirrel quietly took her leave.

This distraction was better than anything Squirrel could have planned, but the timing was so 'coincidental' that it worried her. Not to mention that the whore had greeted her personally. As though she'd known Squirrel.

The gloom of the temple closed around Squirrel. It was dead silent; sounds from outside failed to cross the threshold. Squirrel cast her eyes about, looking for Sao Feng. There was no doorway to an outer courtyard in this temple. Just the two placid-faced golden statues. A brazier between the two figures contained a single smoking stick of incense, a sign that someone had been here recently.

"_Ge-ge_?" Her voice fell flat, and sounded very small. Something whispered behind her; Squirrel turned. The left-hand wall had shifted a little bit. Like in the other temple, this was no wall, but a sliding door. Squirrel waited, but nothing else was forthcoming. She'd have to make the next move herself. Quietly, she moved forward, pushed the door aside, and slid it closed behind her.

She'd not made three steps into the room before she felt someone move behind her, felt their hands close around her head. Squirrel froze, hands fumbling to reach and draw her weapons, but the attacker was surprisingly non-hostile; all he was doing was pulling her hair back, away from her face, and putting something behind her ear. Squirrel turned, slowly, and found herself face-to-face with Sao Feng.

"Did I frighten you, _Hui-mei_1?" He smiled that smile of his, eyes sparkling but teeth well-hidden.

"Startled me, _Feng-ge_2," Squirrel said, unnerved by how easily he had snuck up behind her. She reached up a hand to touch what had been placed behind her ear.

"An orchid," Sao Feng explained, his eyes tracing Squirrel's face, "A gift as such a flower as yourself deserves." His hand reached up to stroke Squirrel's chin, but she moved her head aside. While she knew Sao Feng found her attractive - never mind whether it was because she was foreign or not - she wasn't going to let the man have his way with her.

"You're old enough to be my father," she told him flatly.

Sao Feng's smile broadened slightly. "Does that bother you?"

Squirrel stepped back out of his reach and set her hand on the hilt of her sword. "You said you wanted to see me again. I had presumed because you had further information for me regarding the charts to Davy Jones' Locker. Was I wrong?"

Sao Feng pulled his hand back, and smilingly backed away from Squirrel, putting about a foot of space between them. It was even more noticeable now how much self-control Sao Feng was employing. "You were not incorrect," he said softly, "However, considering that you had come alone, I would have thought…" He smiled, and left the sentence deliberately - suggestively - unfinished.

Squirrel flushed angrily. "I did _not_ come alone. I had no choice in that matter. Therefore, I do not have time to waste." She realised, now, how easy it would be for Sao Feng to catch her, pin her down, and force her, if he so desired. And he clearly did. Squirrel wouldn't stand a chance, and there would be no-one to come to her rescue, should that happen. She had been warned, but hadn't listened. Squirrel tried to hide her fear behind blustering anger. "Tell me what you know, before my friends realise I am missing."

Sao Feng waved a hand, dismissive. "They will not realise you are missing for a while yet, _Songshu_. The Sisters of the Red Flower will keep them busy enough."

"What?" Squirrel frowned. She remembered the women, currently distracting Pintel and Ragetti; their hard and dangerous eyes. "The whores? They work for you?" This was the arrangement he had organised?

"They work for the Lady," Sao Feng corrected gently, with a mocking smile. "As do I."

"Of course," Squirrel said, flat and understanding. But she did not remove her hand from her sword; her other hand went to the hilt of her dagger.

Sao Feng tilted his head. "You think you can best me, _Songshu_? You really have that much confidence?" There must have been something in the set of her shoulders, or her eyes, or something, because Sao Feng laughed softly. "I didn't think so. But you would still fight, _dui bu dui_?"

"_Dui_," Squirrel scowled. "If fighting means that there's a chance for me to escape you, if necessary."

"It is not me you should be worried about," Sao Feng smiled, "I would not harm you, delicate mourning-flower. It would be a grave insult that would reflect poorly on my honour." He held up a finger, curled it in the air before her face as though caressing her chin. "But Xin Fu would, as he has no such honour."

Squirrel frowned to herself. "That thug? He's nothing. Why should I…"

"Because the Lady knows of you," the Chinese pirate shrugged, "And you and your questions are causing her some concern." He smiled at Squirrel's horrified face. "I have told Xin Fu that he is to capture you, and bring you to me for…" He paused, and his eyes moved in such a way and path that made Squirrel's skin crawl, "… Questioning. And then, I must hand you over to the Lady, or to be executed."

Squirrel was shocked. "You would betray me? After what you said, you would dare…"

"I am bound to the Lady!" Sao Feng interrupted firmly. "When she whistles, I must dance." He gave Squirrel a cunning look, and added, "As must you, if and when your captain calls. If Captain Barbossa ordered, you would have to betray me, _dui bu dui_?"

It was her sense of morals answering here, not her instinct. "_Bu dui_." Squirrel folded her arms. "Never."

"Even to save yourself?" Sao Feng smirked.

Squirrel did not deign to answer. Truth be told, Sao Feng may have been right. She very well might have sold him out to save her skin if she was ever caught. But Squirrel did not want to test that theory - she was already embroiled in treachery enough as it was.

"Xin Fu has his orders," Sao Feng continued. "If he catches you, he will bring you straight to me. If you are caught, then I will deny having ever spoken to you, or even having seen you. You will be imprisoned, tortured, and - most likely - killed." Each word was spoken flatly, plainly, matter-of-factly. It was his tone, not his words, which frightened Squirrel the most. "The Lady is ruthless, and very jealous of her power. She sees threats everywhere, and does not hesitate to deal with them as necessary. And, if you are caught by Xin Fu, then you leave me with no choice but to hand you over. You understand?"

Squirrel swallowed, trying to keep from shaking. "So what do I do?"

"Simple." Sao Feng smiled. "Don't get caught."

Her breath came in a short bark of laughter. "That shouldn't be too hard."

"Do not underestimate Xin Fu," Sao Feng warned. "He may seem a _fei ren_3, but there are times he can be as sharp as his name."4

"Duly warned," Squirrel said, smile vanishing. "I'll keep an eye out for him." She paused a moment, then frowned. "If me and my questions are such a threat to the Lady, then… what we seek lies in her possession?"

"The charts exist," Sao Feng said, suddenly cold and businesslike, "As you said. And now, the Lady knows of your interest in them. Therefore, she has decided not to relinquish them, no matter how you plead or demand. The Lady has decided that the charts now have greater value than anyone could have guessed, and, therefore, are now too valuable to give away."

Squirrel's hands balled into fists. "Wonderful. So what are we to do, then? Steal them?"

Sao Feng looked amused. "No thief has ever lived to find the Lady's treasury, never mind be able to reach it." He chuckled, face crinkling in a grandfatherly manner, savouring the thought, then his eyes and expression hardened so suddenly it was as though laughter was something beyond this tyrant's comprehension. "No. You will present the Lady with the one thing that is more valuable to her than her very life."

"Her heart's desire," Squirrel murmured.

Sao Feng nodded, then looked at Squirrel cunningly. "The murderer of her brother."

Squirrel tilted her head. "I'm listening, _ge-ge_."

Sao Feng fingered the medallion he wore, speaking in his slow and careful English, his eyes boring into Squirrel. "When she was young, she depended on her brother alone. She had no mother, no father - just herself and her brother. And when her brother was stolen from her, murdered by a man lower than a gutter rat, the Lady grew hard, strong, cold as jade…" Sao Feng's eyes grew distant and thoughtful, but amused as a man watching a dog chase its own tail, "And just as beautiful." He focused again on Squirrel. "She rose to power, claiming it and holding onto it mercilessly. Yet there is still a hole in her. For fifteen years, she has searched, but only one thing will fill that hole. The Dragon Lady seeks revenge."

Squirrel felt something in her chest clench slightly. She seemed to have something in common with this cold Chinese pirate queen.

"Anyone who can bring her the murderer Lang Zhi - alive and unharmed - will be granted their heart's desire. Whatever you want, the Dragon Lady will give you." He tilted his head, waiting for Squirrel to draw the obvious conclusion.

Squirrel lowered her eyes, thoughtful. "So how do I find Lang Zhi?"

Sao Feng shrugged carelessly. "Many have tried, but all have failed. The man has vanished: from Singapore, from land and sea, from the face of the earth. No-one knows where he has gone, or where he has been hiding these past fifteen years."

"But you know where he is, don't you." It wasn't a question.

The Chinese pirate gave a slow cruel smile. "How else," he said, "Do you think I've remained as the Lady's Mouth for so long?"

Squirrel felt her mouth go dry. She was truly in the presence of a very frightening man. "So, what then? To help us get the charts, you'll trade us Lang Zhi?"

"No."

"Why not? Isn't there something we have that you want?"

Sao Feng shrugged. "It is not what you and your friends can offer me, _Songshu_. I am the most feared pirate in all the waters, and the Dragon's Lady's Mouth. Power is what I seek, and your friends cannot offer me that." For once, he did not look at Squirrel with lust in his eyes; his look was cold and disdainful. "I will remain in the Lady's favour."

"Yet you're the one in command of her, aren't you?" Squirrel folded her arms, trying to look as impressed as she could by Sao Feng's ruthlessness. "She only gives you the power because you have the leverage to retain that position."

"_Dui_."

Squirrel sighed, and dropped her arms. "Then how are we to get the charts from her?"

"You will give her Lang Zhi, of course. She will accept no other barter."

"But you just said…"

Sao Feng smiled. "Tell me, _Songshu_… Is deception something you cannot endure?"

Squirrel paused a moment, wondering how much she could reveal to this man. "I am not above deception," she said, treading carefully, "If it is necessary."

"Then a deception will get you the charts," Sao Feng said, smiling. "You must deliver what seems to be Lang Zhi to the Dragon Lady. What _seems_ to be."

"Ah," Squirrel smiled, nodding in approval. "So that's what you mean. We can't present the real Lang Zhi, so we'll present a substitute."

Sao Feng looked pleased. "_Shir_." He stepped forward, closing the gap between Squirrel and himself suddenly. "And I will help you."

Squirrel wanted to back out of the man's reach, but dared not. She - and the rest of the crew - needed Sao Feng's help. If his help came at a cost, she would have to endure it. "How?" She asked, warily, not liking the man's closeness or his over-familiarity.

Sao Feng toyed with Squirrel's hair, absently, as though he had every right to. "I can offer you nothing at this point in time," he murmured, enjoying Squirrel's discomfort. "All I can say is this: I promise I will." His hand rested on the back of her head, and Sao Feng leaned in, intending to press her close to kiss him.

Squirrel put a hand between Sao Feng's head and her own, stopping his lips from meeting hers. That was a price she was _not_ willing to pay. "Men's allegiances can be bought and sold." She made her tone as cold and stony as possible, despite the electric fear rushing through her veins. "How do I know you'll keep your word?"

Sao Feng smirked, and released Squirrel's head, taking hold of her raised hand instead. "How do I know you'll keep yours?" He murmured, his breath puffing against her palm.

Squirrel smiled coldly. This man's logic was infallible. He would be a very interesting man to play cards with, just as long as he stayed on the other side of the table. "Very true. Then, what sort of agreement shall stand between us?"

Sao Feng released Squirrel's hand, and moved slightly back. "The only one there is." He smiled, his face crinkling jovially, but his eyes were hard, and cold, cold, cold.

Squirrel was aware she was playing with fire. "That's not very encouraging." She put her hands on her hips, leaning back out of his reach. She should not linger here. This man was far too dangerous.

Sao Feng shrugged. "Take it or leave it, _ang moh_." He smiled, and ran his finger along the stones of Squirrel's necklace. "It's the only agreement you are willing to make, after all." His hand lingered on the centre diamond a moment, teasingly, then he fingered the third button of her shirt. The button that was still fastened.

Squirrel slapped his hand away. Sao Feng had gone too far this time, had come too close. "Even so," she murmured, colouring.

The Chinese pirate nursed his hand, aware he could push Squirrel no further. Yet his eyes showed his desire would not be checked. "If I am to help you betray the Dragon Lady," he said calmly, "Then I would know whom _you_ are to betray."

Squirrel felt cold. "I'm not going to betray anyone."

"_Shou huang zhe_.5" Sao Feng smiled. "You come here alone, leaving friends in the hands of whores to speak to me secretly. Me, whom you know by reputation to be a dangerous man, whom you were warned to avoid at all cost." He tilted his head at Squirrel. "You have not even told your captain who your 'contact' is, have you? Does he even know you are here today?"

Squirrel clenched both fists. "I don't have to answer that." But it was answer enough.

"Why all these secrets, _Hui-mei_?" Sao Feng purred, "Unless you were planning a betrayal?" He folded his arms and pulled at his beard, mock-thoughtful. "Yet you seem to me not the kind of pirate - not the kind of woman - who would… bear… betrayal… alone." He drew out each word, teasingly. "You must trust someone enough to share your secrets. _Dui bu dui_? How many of your friends are in your confidence? Five? Two?" His smile widened further, and his eyes glittered reptilian. "One?"

Squirrel closed her eyes and took a breath. Sao Feng would not be saying this unless he already knew. He knew she had not shared information with the rest of the crew; he had deduced she had a plan. And he was telling her he knew she wasn't alone.

"If you already know, _Feng-ge_," Squirrel said quietly, "You tell me."

Sao Feng smiled. "You are planning a mutiny with… Turner William?" He held up a hand. "Forgive me, _William Turner_. In the West, the individual is of more importance than the family. I often forget this."

"What do you want?" Squirrel said, tired of games. "In exchange for Lang Zhi, what do you want?"

Sao Feng smiled. "My father's soul is often restless," he said, "And I must come to this temple regularly to pray." His smile vanished. "Bring me William Turner. Then, I will tell you both where to find Lang Zhi. And… how to present him to the Dragon Lady."

"Why do you want Will?" Squirrel asked, defensive. "Is he to be handed over to the Dragon Lady?"

"Of course not!" Sao Feng chuckled. "There would be no point in that. But I would meet the man you are willing to commit treachery for; the man you will risk your life over."

"Why?"

Sao Feng smiled, but gave no answer. Squirrel hadn't expected one, but the pirate's silence still troubled her. Sensing this meeting was finally over, she bowed: right fist into left palm, folding her body at the waist. "Tomorrow, then? At noon?"

"Yes. And come with Turner." Sao Feng turned away, folding his hands behind his back. "Your friends will notice you have been missing," he said offhandedly, impatiently, dismissing her from his presence. "These two seem to fear their captain greatly. They will not forget that you were not there for some time, even with the skills of the Red Flowers distracting them, for they will have to explain themselves to the man they fear."

Squirrel's hand flew once again to the orchid Sao Feng had tucked behind her ear.

"Leave it," Sao Feng said, without even turning around. "It looks beautiful on you."

She turned, and made to leave, but hesitated before she reached the door. She still had one more question. One that did not have anything to do with their mutiny. "_Ge-ge_," she murmured, "What does '_shou_' mean?"

Sao Feng half-turned, amused. "It can mean many things, _mei-mei_. It can mean 'to hunt'. It can mean 'to trap', 'to ensnare'. It can mean to 'suffer', or to 'endure'. It can mean 'longevity'. Or it can mean 'speak'." He shrugged. "'_Shou_' means many different things, Squirrel Grey. It all depends on how the word is said, the tone used.6" He looked at her, curious. "Why do you ask?"

Squirrel silently took note of everything '_shou_' could have meant, and felt troubled by every single one. _What_ had she drunk? "It's nothing," she said, "Just a riddle someone gave me." If only she'd brought the bottle with her. Sao Feng could have told her what the symbol on the bottle meant. And perhaps even what the bottle had contained. Well, there was always tomorrow. Squirrel bobbed her head, plucking the orchid out from behind her ear, and went on her way.

Outside the temple, a merchant waved Squirrel over, trying to make a sale when all his regular customers were wise enough to seek the shade. "You English?" He asked, smiling genially at Squirrel. Squirrel shrugged and nodded. It was close enough to what she was. The answer seemed to satisfy the merchant. He pulled down something hanging from the wall of his shop and offered it to Squirrel. "For you," he said. "You like?"

Squirrel accepted the strange offering. A collection of thin paper cylinders, decorated in red and gold, were tied to a long white string. It looked like a strange bunch of grapes.

Squirrel fingered one of the cylinders. "What is it?"

The man smiled, and picked up a stray cylinder from inside his stall. With a grin, he held the string end to a candle flame, then threw the cylinder into the street. It exploded with a gunshot retort that made Squirrel's ears hurt and a bright light which stung her eyes. The smell of gunpowder wafted through the air.

"Ah," she smiled, "Firecrackers." _These might come in handy_. She paid the merchant, and headed back to the side street where she'd left Pintel and Ragetti.

The hard-eyed whore noticed Squirrel, and nodded to her. Squirrel nodded back, then cleared her throat noisily. The gaggle of whores lifted their heads, and Pintel and Ragetti seemed to realise what a state they were in. They hurriedly grabbed for their coats and belts and pants, red in the face.

"When you lads are decent," Squirrel sighed, as exasperated as anyone who'd had the highest of hopes for the wrong sort of people, "I think we should head back." She met the eyes of every one of the whores in dark silks; they stared back, unashamed and unabashed. At a motion from their leader, the whores gathered themselves together, and wafted out of the side street, with the same grace and nonchalance with which they'd arrived. Soon, the only sign of their presence was the makeup smears on the two pirates' faces and clothing, and the lingering smell of expensive perfume.

Pintel and Ragetti half-glanced at each other, unable to meet Squirrel's gaze. Squirrel kept her face carefully neutral.

"I won't tell Barbossa about this," she said gently. And that was enough to convince them that they owed her a favour; that they owed her their silence about her disappearance.

* * *

1 Little sister Grey - like the Chinese equivalent of '-chan' 

2 Big brother Feng - the Chinese equivalent of '-kun'

3 Idiot

4 A little explanation - Xin Fu means 'new axe'. Beware the new axe, for it is pointy

5 Liar (and such a cool phrase in Chinese)

6 He's not kidding. You can say a single word in at least five different ways in Chinese. It's all in the tone.

**A/N**: I'd rather explode my face than add the line "I love you long time" for the Geylang girls. Just… no. Please. (But wow, I managed to insert a Singapore-only joke into that first line :S) The spoiler script says 'Lang Si' is the guy's name. But I think 'Zhi' is how it will be pronounced. Maybe. 

Can Sao Feg be trusted? What's up with this deal? Will Squirrel agree to what Sao Feng wants? Yeee! So much in this chapter might need an emergency DEM (_deus ex machina_ for the rest of us). But who knows? Wait and see in the next couple of chapters what transpires. And the movie, too.


	32. Pay Attention

**Disclaimer**: You will fight and disclaimer will die.

**A/N**: Sorry about the wait. Still agonising over a chapter or two. Foreshadowing and deception abound.

* * *

That evening, a game of poker took place in the common area, but not with Squirrel's deck of cards. There was good reason for this: Squirrel herself was part of the game. 

But while she held a hand of cards, her mind was elsewhere. Now that she was free of the temple's cloying smoke, she'd had time to think over what she'd learned. And what she'd agreed to. They'd crossed the Atlantic and braved tempests and all manner of strange wonders and horrors to find Jack Sparrow. Yet the price for retrieving him was to hand him over? What kind of a fool's bargain was that? Squirrel pulled at her hair as she contemplated the numbers and symbols on the cards. Surely, there could have been something else to offer. Surely, there was something Sao Feng would be willing to bargain for. But the deal had already been made, and there was no going back.

Squirrel frowned to herself. _No going back on my word, at least_. But she had told Sao Feng that it would be near impossible to make Jack return to Singapore. And Squirrel herself hadn't promised anything. So she wouldn't _technically_ be going back on her word if she didn't force Jack to return, seeing as how _no-one_ can force Jack Sparrow to do _anything_. And Jack himself would find some way to weasel out of it, anyway. If he could avoid having to pay a debt to Davy Jones - which would have been successful if not for a theft and a Judas kiss - then surely Jack could avoid being captured by a bunch of Chinamen. And it would all be on Jack's head, and not her own. She'd be innocent; she'd be free of all consequences.

_Just like Jack_.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Squirrel looked up from her hand, dully aware she was being addressed. "Eh?" She focused on Will, who sat opposite her. "What?"

"It's your turn," this time Marty spoke, and he looked hard at his hand of cards.

Will tilted his head, concern in his eyes. "You seem a bit distracted."

"Just tired, is all." Squirrel frowned at her cards, trying to keep her mind on the game. "But I'm by no means 'distracted', Mister Turner." She looked over at Gibbs, the dealer for the game. "I'll take two." She slid away two of her most useless cards, and received two in return. Gibbs himself wasn't playing; the dealer was never part of the game when Squirrel played, because she was known to count the cards. To Squirrel, she was just watching the game. To the men, she was cheating.

"Well?" Pintel asked, readying his cards with nervous hands, "You still playing?"

Squirrel tossed two silver coins onto the sizable pile of loot in the middle of the table. Marty winced, glancing between Squirrel and his cards; Pintel bit his lip, but stayed; Will looked at Squirrel steadily, nothing betraying him. Squirrel held his gaze, her gut churning.

What kind of a fool was she being dragging him into this? William was no part of her secret deal with Sao Feng. Yet somehow Sao Feng had known that she'd some private conversation with him, some planned treachery. Squirrel found her eyes wandering away from the cards, and saw the innkeeper's wife clearing away the dirty dishes from the meal. _They're spies_, Squirrel thought with dull surprise. _Spies for Sao Feng… for the Dragon Lady._ _Nothing's a secret here. Everyone is an Eye or an Ear_. The thought made her feel paranoid, almost. Yet, given the circumstances, it was a perfectly justifiable sentiment. But regardless of how Sao Feng knew, he knew. He knew. And now Will was being dragged into this. Squirrel should have refused. But the deal was precarious enough as it was. Sao Feng wanted security for his promised help.

But what kind of help would it be?

"I raise," Will's voice lifted Squirrel from her reverie. "Five silver." The coins danced and clinked on the table. Marty hesitatingly matched the bet; Squirrel didn't even flinch in placing the coins down; Pintel glanced nervously at her before doing the same.

"This isn't your game, Mister Turner," Squirrel said coolly, as Will reached for another stack of his coins.

"Neither is Liar's Dice," he said steadily, ready to push the stack into the centre of the table. "Yet I took on Davy Jones."

"But you told me yourself, William, that you didn't beat him." She stared him down, cards held tight in her hand. "And you're not going to win this game either."

Will smiled slightly. "You seem so certain."

Squirrel smiled back. "I do, don't I."

Gibbs tapped Will's arm. "Be careful, lad. Miss Grey's quite mercenary when she plays."

Will motioned with a finger to the pile of coins in the centre of the table. "I can see why."

"She doesn't play for the money." Gibbs sat back in his chair, his warning done.

Will frowned to himself, then looked to Squirrel. "What do you play for, then?"

She smiled knowingly at Will, eyes as dark as any oracle's. "I think you should fold, Mister Turner. You can't beat me at my own game."

"I thought Liar's Dice was your game," Will said, hand still on the column of coins.

"Anything involving chance is my game," Squirrel said, her eyes not leaving his - a silent challenge.

"I thought you didn't believe in luck."

"Chance is different. Luck implies randomness, chaos. Chance infers that there is something behind the actions we choose." She folded her fan of cards, and opened them again. "The numbers you hold, the way a wrist flicks, the likelihood of a hand closing on the lone red marble in a bag of black stones. There is an order there, one that I can sometimes catch glimpses of."

Will said nothing for a moment, then smiled. "Are you saying you know what cards I hold, Miss Grey?"

"I know you can't beat me," she said simply.

Will shook his head, pityingly. "I think you're bluffing."

Squirrel's smile half-dropped. "Really? You think that?"

"You're distracted," Will said calmly, letting go of the column of coins, "And you feign some kind of deeper knowledge when you take the crew's money from them."

"I feign nothing!" Squirrel frowned. "I know what I'm doing."

"At a game of chance?" He shook his head. "You're bluffing. You're holding a bad hand right now, Miss Grey. Even I can tell that. You're trying to hide it with your words, but I can see that you can't possibly win."

Squirrel forced herself to laugh. "Please, Mister Turner."

"Walk away," Will shrugged, closing his cards in his hands. "None of us here will think any less of you."

Squirrel's eyes smouldered. "Now _you're_ bluffing," she said quietly. "You're trying to make me lose my concentration and reveal something to you about the cards I hold. Well, let me tell you, Mister Turner, you're wrong. You can't possibly beat me, and there's nothing you can do or say to make me give up this hand I hold."

Pintel and Marty - silent throughout this exchange - were exchanging nervous, almost frantic, glances between each other. Gibbs could do nothing, seeing as he wasn't part of this game. But he was on the edge of his seat as it was.

"Nothing?" Will set his cards face-down on the table. "Really?"

"You really want to lose that badly, Mister Turner?" Squirrel fought to check her temper. "I won't stop you. But I'm staying."

Will said nothing, but slowly raised his hands. He pulled something around his neck, out from under his shirt collar, lifting it over his head; he held it in one hand over the table. Gibbs choked back a gasp; Marty and Pintel flinched back; Squirrel's eyes widened, and she almost dropped her cards.

"I bid this," Will said, blank-faced, "As a surety for my win." He was holding the necklace, from which his and Elizabeth's wedding rings dangled.

The silence around the table deepened. All eyes were on the two interlocking circles of metal that hung from the string.

Squirrel finally found her voice. "What on earth would I want with those, William?"

"You'll have to win them first," Will said, still holding the rings up over the table. "And you won't."

"You know that I'll just give them back to Elizabeth." She said, trying to hide how rattled she was. She didn't know if she would, but the forced bravado was obvious.

Gibbs was near turning purple, no doubt preparing some kind of speech about how it would be mortal bad luck for a groom to place so little value on the items which brought man and wife together, forever and eternal bound; but he was unable to even voice a word of it. Pintel and Marty exchanged one final panicked glance, then simultaneously set down their cards and declared, "Fold!"

Squirrel stared at the space between the rings until her vision blurred, and all she saw was a single circle, strangely twisted in a figure-of-eight. The candlelight glinting off the silver burned her eyes and made her cringe. Will let go of the thread, and the rings clattered together before coming to rest on the pile of coins. The brightness of the rings seemed to shame the silver of the coins into dullness.

"Looks like it's just you and me, Miss Grey," Will said, picking up his cards again. "What'll it be?"

Squirrel swallowed noisily. She was not so much frightened by the seriousness of Will's bet, but how willing he'd been to bet something so valuable on something so frivolous as a card game. But this wasn't just about winning or losing. Something larger was at stake here. Will was just as certain he would win, just as certain - and maybe more so - than Squirrel was. This wasn't just a game to him. This was something more. But what?

"I'm all in, then." Squirrel pushed all that remained of her coins to the centre of the table, then sat back. A sinking feeling in her gut had told her she'd gone too far, that she should not have done so, but what could she do? There was no backing out now. Not this far into the game. Not with what had been placed on the table.

Will smiled; Squirrel smiled back. They just smiled at each other for a long moment. Then Will revealed his cards, one by one. And with each card's placement, Squirrel's smile vanished just a little more.

Ten of spades. Jack of spades. Queen of spades. King of spades. Ace of spades. A royal flush. And all in Spades.

"Well?"

Squirrel stared. "Th… that's not possible."

Will smirked slightly. "Really? And here, you were so convinced you'd a winning hand." He motioned with his chin. "Your cards, Miss Grey?"

Squirrel stared numbly at the full house a moment longer, then placed down a pair of threes and three twos. Nothing like a winning hand in comparison to the other. Spades - the darkest cards - trumped all. Will smiled to himself, and pulled all the money and his wedding rings across the table towards him. Gibbs and Marty looked to Squirrel, surprised. She'd never lost a game before. Ever.

"I think I'll sit this next one out," Squirrel murmured, rising to her feet, feeling numb, "Seeing as I have nothing left to wager." She made a smile to her friends, but her eyes, she knew, were empty. "Have fun without me." She had to get some air. She had to get out of the tavern. She felt their eyes on her back, even after she'd shut the door behind her.

The night air was still humid and warm, the heat from the day not yet dispelled. Calls of monkeys and birds from the jungle echoed through the air, warring with the human voices and sounds from the ramshackle town. Smells from the fetid rainforest met and mingled with the smells of the sea; a concoction that was as seductively foreign as it was repulsively different. Squirrel leaned against the outer wall of the tavern, mind furiously recounting the game. How had she lost? How?

A few moments later, she heard someone come up behind her. His presence was as familiar as it had even been. She knew the sound of his guilty boots and his soft and stealthy coat; she knew better yet the sound of his breath. His resolve and the polite way he hesitated before he spoke remained the same as ever, yet now there was an intensity behind how he held himself, as though he were hiding something dangerous - something he didn't wish to see the light of day - behind those eyes of his.

"Are you alright?"

Squirrel shook her head, eyes still closed. "How did you beat me?"

Will said nothing a moment. "I don't know," he said. There was still concern in his voice, but it was guarded. It was as though he were purposely distancing himself from her; the reason for which they both knew full-well, but neither could admit. "You seem a bit distracted this evening. Is everything alright?"

"No," Squirrel said, opening her eyes and looking out over the starlit water. Could she tell him? Could she? "No, it's not." She looked slowly to Will. "I feel like we're playing too many games at once, William. There are too many dice to watch, too many cards to count. It's… it's getting harder to keep track of it all." She looked out towards the sea again. "Getting harder to stay."

"You know what we've agreed," Will murmured.

"Yes." Squirrel nodded. "To hold our cards, for the time being. And wait for the game to turn in our favour."

"And should it turn against us," Will said, leaning against the wall beside her, "We have to be ready to play contrary to the rules. Even though we may be called 'liar' for our troubles."

A short puff of laughter passed her lips. "That's only if we're playing with dice, William."

"And aren't we?" He considered Squirrel, then asked faintly, "Why do we do this?" There was a pause in which Squirrel didn't answer, so he continued, "We both promised to be honest to each other, but then…" He made a short gesture with one hand, "We talk in riddles, as though all this is a game. We never fully answer each others' questions. Why?"

Squirrel sighed wearily. "Because frank honesty can be frightening. At least now, we can be honest without being… open." She looked down at her feet and bit her tongue.

Will looked at her, hard, as though understanding that she was keeping something from him, then he shook his head, angrily. "We promised to be honest with each other."

"William." She tried to warn him.

But he turned to face her with fierceness in his dark eyes. "I've been honest with you, Squirrel. Keep your end of the bargain," he said. "Be honest with me. Truly honest."

Squirrel hesitated, as she had done when Will had demanded the truth of her so long ago. When he had wanted to know why she chose to keep the course he sailed. She'd told him, then, and had repelled him for a moment. She couldn't risk doing that again. She wouldn't lose him. She couldn't.

"I can't," she said, turning away. "Not this time."

Will reached out and snatched her arm. "Squirrel. Please."

"I can't!" Squirrel said. She tried to wrench free but ended up, somehow, practically in his arms. She'd tripped, and Will caught her - an old echo of the day the _Pearl_ was dragged to the depths. His heartbeat was loud in her ears. They stood a moment, fighting for breath. Then Squirrel carefully pushed herself away, and Will did not stop her as she stepped out of his reach.

"I can't," Squirrel bowed her head, her hair falling either side of her face like curtains. "Not tonight. Not now."

"For my sake," Will said, voice low and hoarse, "Please. We have to be able to trust each other. And there can't be trust if there's secrets between us." He paused a moment. When Squirrel again said nothing, he sighed, and added. "Without trust, this won't work. This plan of ours will die before it even begins."

"Perhaps that's for the best," Squirrel muttered. "Given this…"

Will caught Squirrel's chin briefly in his hand, and lifted her head. "Please," he murmured, looking deep into her eyes. "What's bothering you?"

Squirrel swallowed, feeling both nervous as hell and as weary as the earth. "You want me to be honest? Truly honest?"

Will nodded, taking his hand away from her face.

Squirrel made a deep, heaving sigh, and acquiesced. "I don't love you, William… but… I need you."

Will froze.

"There," Squirrel shrugged, turning away. "I said it."

"W…" He was having trouble even speaking. "What… what do you mean… by that?"

At least she could afford him the mercy of not looking into his eyes. She addressed her words to the wide star-speckled sky. "When I look at you, William… I feel like I'm home. You're the reason I wasn't drunk _every_ day since the _Pearl_ sank, because you helped me to forget Jack better than rum ever could. And you didn't leave me with a hangover or make me stupid, either. You make me feel safe. You make me feel strong. You helped me to see that I'm worth something. Worth more than I let people tell me I'm worth. I feel like I've found a place to call home, whenever I look into your eyes. I'm lost without you." She sighed. "I don't love you, William. But I need you."

A cricket chirped in the darkness, making the silence that stretched between them all the more obvious. In the distance, the sea whispered promises of a boundless road. A road that would lead to all four points of the compass, and beyond. The wind whispered through the distant jungle, bringing thick animal and plant smells from the rainforest swamp outside the borders of the port town built from driftwood and Chinese tiles.

"And I'm glad I wasn't in my room last night," Squirrel added, her own voice hoarse. "Because I would have gotten 'I love you' and 'I need you' very confused. Perhaps more than they are already." She turned back at last, but did not lift her head to meet Will's gaze. She stared at his left boot instead. "So, there you have it, Mister Turner. That's it. Honestly."

Will stood still, eyes hooded. He hid his feelings just as he had hid his winning hand; he showed nothing to her.

Squirrel bowed her head, almost hurt by his silence, but also glad he did not speak. "I know there's a difference between loving someone, and needing someone," she murmured, trying to make it easier on both of them. "I know that."

Will spoke, for the first time in an eternity. "When you find the right person… there shouldn't be."

This time, Squirrel was silent. She closed her eyes and prepared a breath for a sigh.

"I'm… I'm glad you weren't in your room, as well."

She opened her eyes, surprised, and looked up at Will. There was an apologetic twist to his lips, but something deeper, more pained, in his eyes.

"I would have, perhaps, made the same mistake."

Squirrel returned the smile. "Ever the knight in shining armour, aren't you, Mister Turner?"

"And you, Miss Grey, the eternally-noble damsel in distress?"

They laughed a moment, but the laughter was short and nervous. Too much had been said. Too much. Even this honesty had gone, perhaps, too far.

"You and Jack…" Will didn't know how to ask the question.

Squirrel sighed, and looked to the sky again. "I chased after a dream. And I've spent so much time chasing after a that dream I've let too much of my life slip by." She sighed again, and folded her arms, rubbing them against the cool that was descending. "I always knew I wasn't what Jack wanted. I'm done grieving. Now I just want him out of my heart." She looked to Will. She couldn't speak. Not with the words she wanted to say.

Another silence stretched between them. Then Will put a hand on Squirrel's shoulder. He took a breath, then another, trying to find the right words, the most diplomatic. Yet, in the end, he chose the most honest words he could possibly give.

"… I can't be the one you love," he told her.

Something twisted inside Squirrel's gut, as painful as a dagger and as calming as the rain. She tried to speak, but she couldn't.

Will hesitated with each word, measuring it, wanting to give her the truth but not wanting to hurt her. "I hope that one day you find the love that you seek… and you truly deserve. But I'm not it. I'm not the one for you. I'm sorry."

There was something caught in Squirrel's throat. What she wanted to say didn't come. So she forced a smile, through the tears, and made her face look grateful. "I know," she said, pushing out words which masked how she felt, which hid the truth, "But you asked me to be honest. And there you have it." She wiped the tears from her eyes, as though ashamed of them. And she was, in a way.

Will smiled to her, empathy and understanding. Then he turned away from her, and looked out over the moonlit water. "Why are you telling me this?" He asked, softly, so as not to offend.

Squirrel sighed, the conversation brought full circle at long last. "Because my contact wants to meet you, William. And I've been trying to decide whether that's a good idea or not."

Will turned back, eyes sharp and alert. "Your contact?"

Squirrel locked eyes with Will, trying to convey her feelings on the matter, and lowered her voice. "He says he'll meet with you, otherwise there's no deal."

A sneer half-curled Will's lip, and he frowned with folded arms. "Why?"

"I don't know," Squirrel admitted. "But he gave his word you'll be safe. That's all I have."

"Promises made are easily broken," Will said, brooding once more. "Trust, even more so."

"I'm not so certain we _can_ trust him." Squirrel stood at Will's right. "But right now, we don't have any choice."

"This is the only way to get the charts?"

Squirrel nodded.

"Is this a trap?"

"I don't know. It could be." She paused a moment, then added, "I haven't told anyone else yet. Just you."

Will sighed through his nose, frowning darkly at the night. Then his hand tapped his forearm, and he dropped both arms to his sides. "When are we to meet him?" He asked, turning to face Squirrel.

"Noon tomorrow."

"Then I have to go to him," Will said. "We don't have a choice."

Squirrel nodded. "I know." She stared darkly out at the night, as though it were to blame for all this. "We're too deep in this to just walk away." Unintentionally, she glanced at Will's open shirt-collar, and saw the silver rings back around his neck. Back where they belonged.

"Tomorrow, then," Will said, not noticing the direction of her eyes. "We'll take each day as it comes." Will turned to go, but Squirrel reached out and caught hold of his sleeve.

"William?"

"Yes?"

"How did you beat me?"

Will frowned a moment, wondering at the incongruous question, then pulled a wry smile. The poker game. "I don't know." He didn't have any more to offer than that. Squirrel released him, and he went back inside. Squirrel turned back to the sea and the stars, and to the half-shadowed moon.

"I suppose I should have been paying more attention," she murmured.

**

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A/N**: More soon. Reviews get replies, cookies and rum! Or grog, depending on how old you are :P 


	33. Sao Feng

**Disclaimer**: Everything we've ever done has lead to disclaimer.

**A/N**: I SAW GEOFFERY RUSH IN PERSON. I have bragging rights n-nv! I went to a play and sat in the second row from the stage. Heavens t'betsy the man is FANTASTIC. Yay for Melbourne's art's centre and Geoffery Rush's awesome theatre acting skills!! -_is enjoying her bragging rights_- Anyhoo… uber long chapter this time. Enjoy.

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Squirrel picked over the contents of the basket, turning each fruit in her hands, checking for bruises or cuts in the skin. Will waited nearby, almost impatiently. He knew that they needed to establish an alibi, a disguise, a reason why they were out here - not just for the others, but for any prying Eye - but he seemed uncomfortable doing so. Just as he had when the _Diana_ had been captured, and his sister 'Sarah Fairfax' had fluttered her eyelashes at the sailors. 

Squirrel paid the merchant, and she and Will walked on. "Here," she said, peeling the fruit's rubbery skin away and cutting a piece for Will, "Try this. It's called a dragonfruit."

Will took the piece, and did so. He frowned. "It's tasteless. Like water, almost."

Squirrel nodded, carving herself a bigger chunk of fruit. "I know. Strange, isn't it?" She bit into the black-freckled white meat of the fruit, looking about her with a faint smile on her face. Singapore never ceased to amaze her. The whole of Asia seemed to gather here, in this tiny jungle island, bringing tastes and smells and sights and everything from all corners of the Orient. She knew she hadn't seen all of it yet, not by a long shot. There was too much here to see in so a short time. She would have to return someday.

Will cleared his throat. "Miss Grey, about last night… I wanted to apologise."

"For beating me in a poker game?" Squirrel shrugged. "It was just a game, William. I bear you no ill-will."

"I wasn't talking about that," Will said, lowering his voice. Squirrel focused on cutting up the dragonfruit. Will sighed. "Squirrel, I feel I spoke harshly, and out of place. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You didn't hurt me," Squirrel said lightly, quashing the ache with another bite of fruit.

Will pushed his hair out of his face. "I stand by what I said, though. You need someone to love you. And I can't be that man."

Squirrel shook her head, a wry smile on her lips. "Don't worry, I understand. I'd be lying to say I wasn't disappointed, but…" She looked up at him. "I'd be more disappointed if you didn't retain that single quality you had when I first met you."

"And what would that be?" Will raised an eyebrow.

"Your unsullied integrity. That…" She flailed her free hand, as though she could pluck the word she was seeking out of the air. Realising she was adopting an all-too-familiar gesture from a man she knew all-too-well, Squirrel stilled her hand and settled with, "That honourable nature of yours." She finished off the dragonfruit, and threw the hollow rind into the gutter. Her hand strayed to her side, to the fireworks that hung from her belt. Given that the innkeeper's wife was no doubt a spy, there was no telling whether or not the crew's rooms were being searched. Squirrel had left nothing of value in her room - the compass from Sam was tucked in her sash, along with the empty glass bottle, and the fireworks were tied to her belt. The paper tubes clattered almost musically as she walked. She smiled at Will to reassure him. "I was always honest with you, William. And I thank you for returning the favour. Besides," she smirked, "I know I'm not that pretty."

"You are," Will said, frowning in concern, then looked surprised at himself. "I mean… I… You are, but… I mean, not… you… I… uh…"

"I know," Squirrel said, half-laughing at how flustered he looked. "Just not as pretty as Elizabeth?" The two of them shared a smile; they continued to match each other's expressions when both those smiles faded and died.

_I stand by what I said too, William_, Squirrel thought. _I still need you. Whether or not I love you, I still need you_.

Will set his eyes on the path ahead of them and set his shoulders. "Tell me more about this contact of yours."

"He knew that we'd been planning something," Squirrel said stonily, turning her eyes back to the narrow streets, "And, I don't know how, but he knew your name. He speaks very good English, and he's not a man to be trifled with."

Will frowned to himself, puzzling over this information. "Not a man to be trifled with? That's very strange, for a pedlar."

"He's no pedlar," Squirrel whispered, as a passer-by came a little too close. "At least, not how I described him to Barbossa."

Will nodded, understanding the need for secrecy. Or thinking he did. "And you never got his name?"

This time, Squirrel hesitated. "I got his name," she said carefully, "But I have to call him '_ge-ge_' - older brother."

Will nodded again. "For safety's sake?"

"Something like that." She dodged an oncoming ox-cart, nearly losing her balance as she leapt aside. Will caught her, steadied her, and then the two of them walked on. Squirrel felt the prints of Will's hands on her shoulders long after he'd let go. A girl from an alley - in a split skirt that showed off ever inch of her legs - called out to Will; his face hardened in deliberate stoicism, but he flushed still. Squirrel glowered until the girl slunk away. A merchant with a cart full of good luck charms hailed Squirrel, and motioned she should come over and see if anything caught her fancy. Squirrel smiled, and ambled over to peruse the goods. Will stood at her shoulder, watching and waiting. After a few moments, Squirrel asked Will, gently, "How was the sword lesson with Elizabeth yesterday?"

Will sighed, but smiled. "It brought back memories," he murmured, "All those times we practiced together in the months before the wedding." His lips twisted slightly. "She can still best me, but maybe because I always seem to want to let her have her way." The smile died on his lips, and melancholy replaced the joy in his eyes.

_You really love her, don't you?_ Squirrel thought with regretful and muted jealousy. But she smiled back at Will, reassuring as much as she could. However, as she turned back to continue examining the ornaments of jade for sale, her eyes chanced on a figure further down the road, sitting at a teahouse. "_Chusheng_!"1 She hissed.

Will frowned at her. "What? What's wrong?"

Squirrel placed the jade carving back down, and ran her fingers over an embroidered picture of a dragon. "You remember how I said I was threatened before? Someone called Xin Fu?"

"Yes." Will frowned at her. "Why?"

"Don't look, but he's down the end of the road there. Drinking tea with some of his friends."

Will leaned forward to examine the embroidered dragon as well. "Are you sure?" He whispered, glancing out of the corner of his eye. Squirrel nodded; Will's hand dropped to his side, to his sword. "Can we take them?"

Neither Xin Fu nor his men were wearing their armour today - their bare chests and arms gleamed with sweat and grime in the noonday sun. But their swords and other assorted weapons were very noticeably present. "I think not," Squirrel murmured. "They run very fast, and they probably fight the same way. They seem well-trained, despite their appearance."

"Because appearances can be deceiving," Will nodded, turning his dark eyes from the gathered thugs. "So, what do we do?"

"I'd prefer to run."

"Running would only attract his attention." Will said softly, impressing Squirrel with his practically. He scanned the streets. "How far is it to the temple from here?"

Squirrel excused herself from the merchant, and she and Will slowly walked away. Every step was an agony; at any moment, Xin Fu and his friends might turn and see them. And, being the only foreigners - in addition to being the only people on a deserted street - Will and Squirrel were a little obvious. Squirrel knew that she'd have a much harder time running from Xin Fu if she had to worry about Will as well.

"Left," Squirrel murmured, and she and Will turned down a side street. There, they were safe, and out of sight. Squirrel realised she'd been holding her breath, and released it with a laugh of relief.

Will looked at her curiously as they walked. "I thought you said he was nothing."

"That was before I found out that the Dragon Lady wants to 'question' me," Squirrel shrugged back.

Will frowned, concerned. He heard the way she stressed the word, and knew that she meant much more. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Squirrel shrugged. "I didn't want anyone to worry. Besides, I can take care of myself." Will didn't look very convinced, but he didn't say a word. Squirrel pursed her lips at his glance, and added wryly, "Well, better lately than before." She saw a familiar street, and smelled incense on the wind. "This way."

The inside of the temple was cool, a welcome relief from the heat outside. But of Sao Feng, there was no sign. There wasn't even a stick of incense in the brazier. Just the smell emanating from the pile of ash. Squirrel tried not to let her concern show. Were they too late? Too early? Or had Sao Feng gone back on his already-dubious word? Trying to look unconcerned in front of Will, Squirrel picked up one of the spare incense sticks lying in front of the brazier, lit it in the flame of one of the many candles, and placed it in the urn of ash. A thin funnel of smoke rose and twisted sinuously in the cavernous shadows. Will watched the smoke, patiently; Squirrel squirmed inwardly. She had a sense or foreboding that would not be quashed.

"_Ge-ge?_" She called softly. "_Are you here?_"

Silence answered her.

Will seemed to sense something was wrong. "What is it?"

Squirrel didn't answer him. She went to the side wall, and pushed. The door whispered across the floor as it slid away, but beyond the door the darkness of shadows was all Squirrel could see. But there was something on one of the walls that had not been there before. Squirrel carefully stepped through the darkness, eyes adjusting to the shadows. As she neared it, she saw it was a piece of rice-paper, pinned to the wall by a silver dart. Squirrel pulled both from the wall and examined them. The dart was familiar; it was one of her throwing daggers. There was no doubting the shape, size or lightness of the thin blade. Squirrel felt queasy.

Will entered the room, holding a lit candle. He held it high so the two of them could examine the paper she held. In elegant, flowing script, two Chinese characters marked the thin paper.

"What does it say?" Will asked, standing over Squirrel's shoulder.

Squirrel shook her head. "I don't know," she said, "I can't read Chinese."

"But you speak it, don't you?" Will raised an eyebrow, half-amused. Squirrel pulled a face at him, then turned her attention back to the throwing dagger. The last she'd seen of it, it and two others were singing through the air towards a man's face. Yet it was here, pinning a message to the wall.

Someone knew they were coming. And was ready for them.

"We have to leave," she said, urgently. "Now."

The door slid quickly shut behind them, the wood of the frames clapping sharply together; Will dropped the candle and drew his sword in a single fluid motion, while Squirrel crouched with the blade readied in her fingers, her other hand flying to her chest, ready to pluck more daggers from the knife-belt. The candle petered out, dying, leaving them both in darkness.

"The character for Hell," a voice said calmly, "Is both a place and a situation, where two dogs fight, their words between them." A figure moved forward to stand between them and the door, armoured boots soft across the floor, armour whispering; his shape was vaguely seen as a darker patch of darkness. "They cannot fight their past, they cannot fight what has brought them to that place, so they fight each other instead. For eternity." His smile glinted, as did his eyes. "_Ni hao, Songshu_. _Ni hao_, Turner."2

Will brandished his sword, his muscles tensing. "A trap," he snarled.

Squirrel set a gentle hand on his arm to calm him, then addressed the shadowed figure. "_Ni hao, ge-ge_." She felt Will turn incredulous eyes to her, felt him tighten his grip on his sword. He was not calmed by Squirrel's touch, nor by her greeting to the man.

"I'm surprised you were willing to leave so soon, _mei-mei_," Sao Feng said, offhanded and casual, as he went about lighting the lanterns in the room. "Giving up without seeing me?" The more light that filled the room, the more Will tensed. Now he could see who was in the room with them, he seemed to be growing increasingly guarded.

"You didn't seem to be here," Squirrel said, looking to Will in concern. "And we feared… treachery."

"You fear what you are a part of? How surprising!" Sao Feng smiled, and motioned to the paper that Squirrel held. "I merely left a sign for you." He shrugged. "Strange, that you - you who are so full of life and determination - should be willing to undertake a voyage to such a place."

"Davy Jones' Locker?" She frowned warily. Sao Feng shook his head, and motioned again to the paper. He needed no words to explain himself; the character on the page was explanation enough.

The Chinese pirate moved forward, and placed the other two throwing daggers in Squirrel's hand with a knowing smile, then turned his attention to Will. "There is no need to have your sword drawn, Turner. I mean you no harm."

"William," Squirrel murmured, when Will's scowl deepened, "It's alright. This is the one who's going to help us."

But Will turned angry eyes to Squirrel. "Your 'contact' was Sao Feng?" he said, accusatory.

While Squirrel blanched in surprise, Sao Feng chuckled to himself. "Come, Turner, there's no need to be so… antagonistic." He smiled. "That is the word, yes? Antagonistic?"

"I told you his English was good," Squirrel couldn't meet Will's eyes.

"You could have told me his _name_," Will hissed.

"Discretion on her part was a necessary evil, Turner." It was as though Sao Feng had never laughed at all. His eyes were so cold. "Would you have come if you knew that I was the one who had offered to help you?"

Will glowered a moment longer, then begrudgingly admitted, "No." He glanced at Squirrel again. "But I had thought she'd _trust_ me enough to tell me."

That was a twist of the dagger. "William…"

Sao Feng interrupted, "If she didn't trust you, you wouldn't be here." He folded his arms, and waited with an imperious expression for Will to sheathe his sword. Will did so, reluctantly. Squirrel silently rolled the three blades around in her fingers, hurt and shamed by Will's accusations, and what had transpired.

"I'm curious as to how you knew me, Turner," Sao Feng tilted his head.

"You were described to me," Will said shortly, "Armour, a dragon tattoo, and wearing a medallion, like the one around your neck." He shot another glance at Squirrel. "And certainly not a man to be trifled with."

Sao Feng laughed; Will kept a darkly-blank look on his face. Squirrel looked between one and the other, not knowing whether to speak or to be silent. Finally, she took courage, and lifted her head. "_Ge-ge_, you said you'd help us. Can you?"

Sao Feng smiled. "_You mei na me jian dan_,"3 he murmured. His eyes took a path of their own, as though the man were simply relishing Squirrel's presence here.

"Mister Turner is here as a matter of courtesy," Squirrel said shortly, crossing her arms over her breasts protectively. "Speak English, for his sake."

Sao Feng laughed. "Very well." He folded his arms and smirked. "But before I begin… Turner, did _xin songshu_ here tell you anything? Of what she and I had discussed previously?"

Will shot another glance at Squirrel, this time more puzzled than angry. "No," he said shortly, "She didn't."

Sao Feng smiled again, this time at her. "Then tell him, _Hui-mei_. Tell him of what I have offered."

Squirrel hesitated a moment. What game was Sao Feng playing here? What on earth could he possibly stand to gain from this meeting? Something told her she should be on her guard. She turned to Will and summed up as best she could what had been promised. "According to him," she jerked her head at the Chinese pirate, "The only way we're going to get the charts from the Dragon Lady is if we present her with the murderer of her brother. It's the only thing she'd be willing to trade. But Lang Zhi - the murderer - has been missing for fifteen years. So we have to find some way of creating a substitute that will deceive the Dragon Lady until we have the charts in our possession."

Will's lips thinned, and an eyebrow raised. "And what price would we be paying for this help?" His eyes deliberately held hers, did not flicker to the Chinese pirate.

Again, Squirrel hesitated. She glanced at Sao Feng, who smiled benignly. He unfolded his arms, and moved closer to the pair. Will tensed, preparing to defend himself, but Sao Feng focused his eyes instead on Squirrel.

"The delicate mourning-flower finds the price too steep," the Chinese pirate smirked. "It is one she cannot agree to pay." Sao Feng reached out a hand to caress Squirrel's face; she flinched and ducked back, glowering. Will frowned, alarmed; he moved a little forward, stepping between Squirrel and Sao Feng. A silent and chivalrous defence. The Chinese pirate looked amused, but said nothing. Then he turned his merry eyes to Will. "Perhaps you, Turner, would be more willing to pay, _dui bu dui_?"

"You'll have to forgive my suspicion," Will said darkly, "But I must question your motives. Why are you helping us?" Squirrel ducked her head slightly. Sao Feng's explanation last time was far too ambiguous. She doubted he would give a plain one now.

Sao Feng took the paper from Squirrel's grip - the paper with the character of 'Hell' painted onto it - and rolled it up like a scroll. Then he smiled. "You are wondering why I wished to meet you, Turner? If I am just telling you what I already told _Songshu_?"

Will frowned at the Chinese pirate, glanced at Squirrel, then looked back to Sao Feng. "Yes. I am."

Sao Feng shrugged, wearing a nonchalant expression. "Treachery always amuses me." He looked between Squirrel and Will, a cunning smile sliding across his features. "Your friends seem to be of one accord about this quest of yours. However… you two, _Hui-se_ _Songshu_ and William Turner… You seem to be of a different mind."

"What are you talking about?" Will frowned, trying to shield the emotion in his eyes. "We're just here to get the charts."

"Yes, of course you are!" Sao Feng chuckled. "But for what reason?"

Will remained silent.

"You think I'm blind?" Sao Feng pulled at his beard, and motioned with his free hand to Squirrel. "_Songshu_ here trusts very few. She would not trust you _completely_ if your intentions were contrary to hers. You two plan something different, even though you sail the same waters as your friends." His eyes glinted. "You two have something hidden from the others. Something not even your precious bride - or your whore - knows about."

Will stiffened, opening his mouth to snap angrily in Elizabeth's defence. Squirrel interrupted quickly, lest he give away the name of the 'bride'. Information was not something to be bartered about so easily here. Knowledge was power. Sao Feng wanted to know who the three women were, but she knew they couldn't afford to give that away. It was far too important. "Alright," Squirrel stepped forward, putting her hands on her hips and scowling as though her patience were wearing thin, "You know we're planning something. You know we're not being totally honest with our friends. So what?"

Sao Feng smiled. "As I said," he shrugged, "Treachery always amuses me. Why is it that you want the charts?"

"The _Black Pearl_," Will said bluntly.

Sao Feng raised an eyebrow. "A ship? Why?"

"Why should it matter?" Squirrel interrupted again, warning Will with her eyes to be silent. He stared her down in return.

Sao Feng put a hand to his chin, and smiled in thought. "_Songshu_, did you tell Mister Turner the price for my agreed help?"

"No," she admitted, turning away from Will's eyes, "Because I don't even know whether you'd help us or not."

"And perhaps because the price itself frightens you, _dui_?"

Squirrel said nothing.

Sao Feng smiled, and set the scroll into an alcove, next to one of the lanterns. He lifted the lantern free of the candle it contained, and tossed it to the floor. He stared a long moment at the naked, dancing candle flame, then set his shoulders. "I will help you," he said simply, looking back over his shoulder, "But you have to trust me."

"How do we know that we can?" Will murmured, sparing a curious glance for Squirrel.

"Isn't my word enough?" Sao Feng turned back and spread his hands. When both Squirrel and Will remained silent, he laughed. "Yes, of course. When it comes to treachery, no-one can be trusted." He smiled between the two of them. "No-one."

"What is the price?" Will repeated, almost brusquely.

Sao Feng turned away from them both again, and clasped his hands behind his back. "My price is Jack Sparrow. As much as I would rather leave him to suffer for all eternity, he is far more useful out of that cage. I will help you get the charts, and you will bring him to me. Alive."

"Done," Will said, immediately.

Squirrel felt something give way inside her. "William!"

Sao Feng laughed as he turned back to face the two of them. "He must have insulted you gravely indeed," he smirked at Will, "For you to hate him so."

Squirrel tried to salvage the situation. "We can't promise anything, _ge-ge_. I already told you that. It will be hard to bring Jack to you. We just want his ship, but…"

"William Turner was more than ready to pledge his word," Sao Feng smiled slowly, calculatedly, at Squirrel. "He seems confident that he can capture Jack Sparrow, where you are not."

"We'll do whatever it takes to get the _Black Pearl_," Will seconded, turning his eyes slowly to Squirrel. "And that's all that matters." Squirrel fell silent under the force of both men's gazes, and had to look away.

Sao Feng looked between the two of them, his eyes flickering back and forth, a smile dancing across his lips. "So many secrets," he chuckled. Then he sobered. "You know my price. And you have agreed to pay. So it is only fair that I give you the help I promised." He pulled a cylindrical bamboo container from his belt, uncapped it, and tipped the contents out into his palm. A very old roll of parchment, brown and crisp and weathered, slid out. "This," the Chinese pirate said, unrolling the scroll carefully, "will help you." He held the parchment and the container out to Squirrel; Squirrel slipped the three throwing daggers into her belt before she accepted what Sao Feng was proffering. "Lang Zhi had a very distinctive tattoo on his back," Sao Feng continued, speaking to Will. "A dragon that cannot be replicated by any tattoo artist. It is unique. Just as the man himself."

Squirrel stared at the parchment she held, feeling revolted, but not knowing why. Perhaps it was just the dragon, with its fangs and claws and ferocity. What she held didn't feel like parchment. Despite its colour and crispness, it was still pliable. And it had a texture that made Squirrel's skin crawl.

Will glanced at the parchment, then locked eyes with the Chinese pirate. "So we need to find the man with this tattoo?"

"You'll not find another man in the world with this tattoo across his back," Sao Feng smiled. "And Lang Zhi himself is long vanished from here. I doubt he will return just for you, _ang moh_. Were you not listening to _Songshu_? You must present to the Dragon Lady what _seems_ to be Lang Zhi."

Will frowned in thought. "Seems to be?"

"_Dui_," Sao Feng nodded. "A substitute." He paused, glancing at Squirrel, then back at Will. "No-one would be willing to risk the Dragon Lady's wrath to make this design again. And every man, woman and child in Singapore knows of Lang Zhi's distinctive mark, and hate him for it and the dishonour he has wrought. So you must find another way of making this work. You will have to create Lang Zhi's double on your own."

"This is the help you offer?" Will frowned darkly.

"It is all I can do," Sao Feng said, eyes going cold. "I am too close to the Dragon Lady to do any more." He considered Will a moment. "You, Turner, have Lang Zhi's height and build. Perhaps you could pass as the man. If you were masked, the Dragon Lady would look for nothing but the tattoo. And that is all she would see."

"I have no desire to have a dragon tattooed on my back," Will frowned, and looked to Squirrel, seeking her opinion. But she was staring at the parchment, fighting with nausea.

"This is his skin, isn't it," she murmured. "This is the tattoo… from Lang Zhi's back."

Sao Feng smiled. Very, very slowly.

Squirrel swallowed, mouth dry with fear; Will looked both sickened and horrified.

"This, then, is our deal," Sao Feng examined his claw-like nails briefly. "I have given you aid so that you may gain the charts from the Dragon Lady. In return… well, you know my price."

"What about the Dragon Lady?" Squirrel gingerly rolled up the parchment and placed it back into its container, not wanting to touch it any longer. "When the Lady realises that Lang Zhi is… isn't…" She took a breath. "She's not going to part with the charts that willingly when she realises she's been duped. This plan seems…" Words failed her, so she reverted to Chinese. "_Ke xiao_,"4 she muttered.

"_Ke xiao_?" Sao Feng tilted his head. "Or… _ke xing_?"5 He smiled at the pun. "Either way, it is always good to have a second plan prepared."

"A second plan?" Will frowned. "What's the second plan?"

Sao Feng motioned to the container Squirrel held. "This is, of course. You will provide the traitor to the Dragon Lady."

Will and Squirrel exchanged glances. Squirrel found her tongue first. "But if this is the second plan, then what…" The Chinese pirate smiled, his teeth seeming more like fangs than ever before. Squirrel fell immediately silent.

"What if I told you that I myself could take hold of the charts?" Sao Feng purred. "If that was the case, would you need to negotiate with the Dragon Lady?" He nodded his head, and, like two small creatures before a snake, Will and Squirrel mirrored his motion, hypnotised. "It would be so much easier, then," Sao Feng continued, slowly pacing around them, "For one of you to steal from me. Safer to risk _my_ wrath than the wrath of the Lady, _dui_?" Again, Will and Squirrel nodded, though more from their own wits this time.

"What are you suggesting?" Will frowned as Sao Feng stepped lightly around behind Squirrel. "That we won't need to use this… tattoo?"

Squirrel tensed her shoulders as Sao Feng's breath puffed on the back of her head. "Possibly," the Chinese pirate murmured. She watched him, warily, darkly, from the corner of her eye as he resumed his circling. Sao Feng smiled genially back at her - he wouldn't touch her. Not now. "But," he added, "It all depends on what your captain says."

"We have no captain." Will said, stubborn as ever.

Sao Feng raised an eyebrow. "But you follow the orders of Captain Barbossa, do you not?"

"Only as far as we can trust him," Squirrel supplied, sparing a wry glance at Will. Will nodded, missing the sarcasm.

"Well, then," Sao Feng shrugged, "Trust him. But also let him know of what your contact has told you. Perhaps Hector Barbossa would rather face the Dragon Lady and her Mouth, than just Sao Feng." He smiled again. "But I doubt even _he_ will risk those odds. It also seems that Singapore is not to his taste. No doubt he will wish to leave as soon as possible."

Squirrel kept herself from frowning. Hector Barbossa? How on earth had Sao Feng known Barbossa's full name? No-one called him 'Hector Barbossa' except herself. And neither she nor anyone else called him that while they were in Singapore. So how had Sao Feng…?

"I hope that I have supplied you with enough," Sao Feng addressed Will, returning to where he first stood, "Given that all you have supplied me with is a promise."

"A promise I will honour," Will almost bowed, "Just as you have honoured your end of the deal."

Sao Feng smirked. "You were not expecting such a thing from a brute of a man, were you, Turner?"

"Well, _ge-ge_," Squirrel wasn't nearly as sincere. "You've been very helpful." She glanced to Will, and murmured, "We should go."

"And so our deal is completed." Sao Feng heaved a heavy sigh. "It is a pity, though, that I had not thought to ask for… other payment." He turned his eyes towards Squirrel, and he very slowly smiled. Squirrel didn't smile back; her right hand went to the hilt of her sword, while her left went to the blades across her chest. The Chinese pirate gave a humph and shook his head. "Some women aren't worth the trouble," he muttered, half to himself. "A woman who cannot fight is far more to my taste." Then he grinned. "At least, a woman who cannot fight _too_ well." Squirrel flinched.

Will's eyes narrowed. "We're leaving."

Once again, it was as though Sao Feng had not even committed any trespass. His eyes were cold, and he looked pointedly at the container in Squirrel's hand. "I trust your resourcefulness, _ang moh_," he said, speaking to them both, "Do not disappoint me."

Will returned the coldness. "Whether your help is actually useful remains to be seen. But as of now…" He paused, looking for the word, "We're… _grateful_ for what you've done. Farewell."

"_Zai jian_," Sao Feng replied, turning away. Will also turned, heading for the door. Squirrel let him go, staring intently at Sao Feng's back. Eventually, sensing her eyes on him, the pirate turned back. He looked quizzically at her.

"What was the purpose of that?" Squirrel hissed.

"Of what?" Sao Feng looked as innocent as he could manage.

"That." Squirrel gestured towards the doorway, and lowered her voice further. "Meeting William. Was there any purpose in that? If so, I'd like to hear it."

Sao Feng's face crinkled in a smile. "As I said before, _xin songshu_, treachery amuses me. And I always enjoy knowing where all the pieces on the board lie."

Squirrel bit back a retort. Sao Feng's words were only too similar to the words she and Will had exchanged. About all this being a game.

"Is it common for you to talk about someone behind their back, _Songshu_?" Sao Feng's smile broadened. "Or do you think that because he is listening in the doorway that you are exempt from such cares?"

Squirrel didn't even deign to answer Sao Feng. Again, the Chinese pirate lord was too, too perceptive. Either that, or her thoughts were too transparent. She glanced over her shoulder. Will's shadow slipped away from the doorway; his footsteps whispered softly across the floor. He'd heard them both, as she knew he would.

It was time to leave. But then, before she turned away, Squirrel was reminded of something. She might not get another chance to ask this.

"_Ge-ge_…" She pulled the glass bottle from where it had been hidden - tied to her belt and tucked under her blue sash - and held it out, cupped in both hands, "What does this symbol mean?"

Sao Feng glanced at it. "_Shou_," he said. This time, the word meant long life. He pursed his lips in amusement. "Why do you ask?"

Squirrel frowned to herself, lost in thought. Long life. What was worth more than a long life? Not only that, but how, exactly, did one put long life into a bottle? This was surely another one of Tia's riddles - and another impossible one, at that. Squirrel looked again to Sao Feng, keeping some distance between him and her. "_Does this_," she tapped a fingertip on the symbol in the glass, "_Mean that this is what the bottle contains?_"

Sao Feng shrugged. "_It is often considered fortunate to have such a symbol on items commonly used. You will find it on feng shui compasses, clothing, kitchenware… anything. For good luck_." He tilted his head. "_Why?_"

Squirrel glanced at Will, who stood just outside, and quietly secreted the bottle back under her sash. "_I have to replace it_," she spoke in an undertone. "_I stole it, and now must return what was lost. What it contained_." Whatever that was; long life, or otherwise, it seemed an impossible task.

Sao Feng smiled jovially, as though holding back a private joke. "_Then I wish you well_."

"Are you coming, Squirrel?" Will called from the entrance to the temple.

Squirrel bowed Chinese-style to Sao Feng, holding back the unasked questions, then turned to leave. But she looked back before she slid the door closed behind her. Sao Feng was holding the scroll of paper - the one with 'Hell' written on it - to the candle flame, and was watching it burn to nothingness. Flakes of thin black ash floated to the floor, and black smoke rose to the ceiling. He was destroying all evidence that he had seen and spoken with the _ang moh_.

It would be as though they'd never even met. Their 'contact' was gone. And would never speak to them again.

Squirrel and Will walked silently side-by-side through the streets back to the tavern. Neither of them spoke for a long while.

Finally, Squirrel broke the silence. "Do you think we can trust him?"

"Do we have a choice?" Will glanced at the container hanging from her belt. Squirrel tightened her lips and said nothing, but she shared the sentiment.

**

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**

1 Dammit! (lit. 'animal')

2 Diyu - DI: Place/land/situation/condition, YU: Jail (the character for jail being two dogs fighting over 'words')

3 It's not that simple.

4 Laughable/rediculous

5 Feasible. A pun is a play on words, and Sao Feng's doing just that.

**A/N**: Ladies and gents, I'd just like to take this time to thank everyone who's given me feedback so far. You guys rock! This story's been such fun to write so far, and, judging from the clips and trailers, the movie's going to be kick-ass. Here's to Ted and Terry, who made the magic of Pirates possible! Cheers!

New chapter as soon as I've handed in all these assignments that have been procrastinating behind me for over a month :S

-_does a little dance_- I saw Barbossa in person! I saw Barbossa in person! Glee :D


	34. Roles

**Disclaimer**: "Disclaimer the virgin stars!"

**A/N**: I am such a crappy student. Urgh. Well, at least I'm a fairly consistent writer!

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As soon as the innkeeper's wife cleared away the plates from the evening meal, Barbossa fixed his ice-blue eyes on Squirrel. "Ye went to see that contact of your'n yesterday, angel. Why don't ye tell us about what ye found?" 

Squirrel nodded as all faces turned soberly in her direction. Meeting everyone's eyes, one by one, she told the crew everything. At least, everything that she and Will had agreed to reveal. Will played his part perfectly. He leaned forward eagerly as Squirrel mentioned the charts. One would have thought that he knew nothing at all. To everyone's knowledge, she and Will had gone shopping in the afternoon; the various items they'd brought back substantiated this story. No-one knew about Squirrel's third visit to her 'contact', or that Will had been with her. Just as well.

"… but Lang Zhi hasn't been seen for years, so we'll have to create a substitute."

Barbossa frowned, the monkey mirroring his expression from where it sat in his arms. "So how would we do that, angel?" Will turned his head to Barbossa, weighing his words, then back to Squirrel, waiting expectantly. The former blacksmith was a quick learner.

"Well," Squirrel smiled at the gathered faces, "Wouldn't it be very pirate, to fly under false colours?" She tapped the fingers of one hand into the palm of the other. "We know that Lang Zhi has a distinctive tattoo. But, let's face it, after fifteen years, who's going to remember what it looks like? Specifically?"

"The Dragon Lady will," Elizabeth pointed out, fingering the Chinese collar of her shirt.

Squirrel nodded. "Granted. But once we're in her court… it'll be a little late for her to back down."

"We'll have to go out fighting," Gibbs pointed out pragmatically. Cotton's parrot screeched and bobbed its head in agreement in time with his owner.

"What about the tattoo?" Will asked, bringing the conversation back to the point.

Squirrel nodded, then pulled a piece of paper from out of her pocket and spread it out on the table for all to see. It was a pencil sketch - a tracing - of the tattoo from the skin from Lang Zhi's back. There were inaccuracies, of course, to make it look like Squirrel had drawn it herself. But it was close enough to accurate.

"Will and I went around looking at tattoo parlours today," Squirrel said, shooting Will an apologetic look, to make it seem as though she were asking forgiveness for the hidden reason of their jaunt, "Looking at the designs of dragons and such. I've got a pretty good idea about how the dragon would look," she said, gesturing to the pencil sketch, "Especially considering how all Chinese dragons seem to look alike, in regard to colour and design."

Tia traced a finger around the dragon's looping tail. "But 'ow do we knoo dat dis is deh design dat Lang Zhi 'as on him back?" She looked at Squirrel, curious. Good; no scepticism from her was a good sign.

"As I said," Squirrel shrugged, "We can only do our best and hope that no-one notices until we're right in the Dragon Lady's court."

The others seemed enthused by the idea. Barbossa tapped his chin thoughtfully, a glint in his eyes the only sign of his approval. "So how," he murmured, "Would ye make it?"

Squirrel took a breath, and faced the crew squarely. This, at least, was honest truth. "I don't know if this will work," she said carefully, holding Barbossa's gaze, "But I found a place outside the Chinese quarter. There's an East Indies fabric dye, called batik. It's wax-based, so it will hold to skin, but it will peel or melt off easily. A temporary tattoo."

Marty frowned. "That's no good in Singapore. The heat'll melt it too soon."

Elizabeth's eyes shone eagerly, and she sat further forward in her seat. "Not unless we go to see the Dragon Lady at night. When it's cooler. The tattoo will last longer, and therefore will fool them for longer." She glanced around at the crew. "If we have to, we can fight our way out."

Squirrel was surprised at Elizabeth's words. At how much they mirrored what she was thinking herself. "Yes. Exactly."

Barbossa changed his seat in his chair, his expression remaining the same. The monkey, however, frowned slightly.

"It's a fair plan," Gibbs stroked his chin thoughtfully. "And it's crazy enough to actually work."

Squirrel smiled, then shrugged with palms open. "And short of actually tattooing a dragon on Will's back, this is the best bet we have."

"And ye've always had a head for gambles, haven't ye?" Barbossa said evenly. His words seemed to kill the excitement around the table - all the crew turned to him, frowning. Even Squirrel hesitated.

"A batik tattoo," Tia put a finger to her lips, her eyes sparkling with barely-concealed merriment. "An' how you know dat dis 'batik' can be a tattoo, Miss Greeh?"

Squirrel turned to the swamp woman. "I tried it on myself already," she said. Will raised an eyebrow - he hadn't known that. But while he was being showed the batik dying process that afternoon, Squirrel had - with the help of some of the dyers - drawn a design on her skin. Gingerly, Squirrel rose to her feet, set her left foot on the table's edge, and rolled up her pants leg. A blue, red, yellow and black swirl coiled in a tight circle on her bare calf, slightly blurred from the heat.

"I just tested whether or not the colours would run when mixed together," she explained. "And how long the dye would last." She shrugged. "As you can see, it's melted a bit. But the colours hold their own pretty well. It's lasted a good few hours, though it probably won't last much longer." Squirrel sat down again, flushing slightly as she rolled her pants leg back down. She'd wanted to keep the design hidden from any of the Dragon Lady's Eyes, but she was still a little embarrassed about showing off her leg to her friends like that.

Barbossa put his fingers to his lips and said nothing; he merely sat, face blank and unreadable. The monkey climbed up onto the table and picked his way through the empty plates and bowls towards Squirrel, and curled up in her lap. Squirrel petted it absently as the discussion continued.

"Well," Gibbs cleared his throat, "I don't see anything wrong with this idea of Miss Grey's."

Mister Cotton nodded, and his parrot spread its wings. "Wind in the sails! Strike soundings!"

Elizabeth smiled, "I think it's a brilliant idea." She looked at Will, and her smile faded slightly. "But you'll be in danger, Will. If we disguise you to hand you over to the Dragon Lady, then… you could be hurt, or even killed."

Will lowered his head in thought a moment, then smiled encouragingly at Elizabeth. "There's always an element of risk. But whatever it takes, I'll do." Elizabeth beamed at him, and the rest of the crew looked just as rallied. Squirrel dropped her eyes, and smiled to herself.

"Just one question," Marty raised a hand in the air. "After we get the charts, then what?"

"We'd need to get away, obviously," Will answered for Squirrel.

"We'd need a ship," Pintel put his two cents in.

"A fast one," Ragetti seconded, his wooden eye rolling in its socket.

"Well, then we could steal one of the ships from the harbour," Squirrel suggested. "One of those ones with the orange sails."

"Commandeer one, you mean," Will folded his arms and almost smirked. But his eyes were dark and sober.

"Won't work," Barbossa said stoically, fingers still on his lips. The crew all turned to him. Barbossa's eyes flickered back and forth a moment, then he smiled faintly at Squirrel. "Stealin' - or commandeerin' - a ship won't work."

"Why not?" Elizabeth frowned. "There are plenty of them."

"Aye," Barbossa nodded, lowering his hand, "But the thing with these pirates is that they leave their families - their wives and children - aboard their vessels. That's why they fight so fierce in battle. It's because they're not just fightin' to gain a prize on the open sea, but they're fightin' to survive, and to return to their homes and loved ones."

Squirrel caught Will glancing at Elizabeth, and Elizabeth at him.

"So stealin' a ship's out of the question," Barbossa finished, expression still unchanged. "Especially seein' as how they'll all be occupied and _very_ well-guarded. Ye can't steal a home while the owners are still inside."

Gibbs looked disapprovingly at the man in black. "But the rest of Miss Grey's plan could certainly work."

"Oh, yees," Tia nodded, smiling to herself, "Of course it would. If deh Dragon Leedee really existed."

"What?" Will turned to Tia. "What do you mean? She's not real?" He turned accusing eyes to Barbossa. "You told us that she ruled this island."

"Aye!" Barbossa sat forward in his chair - the monkey leapt up from Squirrel's lap and returned to his master. "True enough!" He smiled at the incredulous crew. "The Dragon Lady is the spirit of the Orient. Just as the navy sails in the name of Mother England, the Chinese sail in the name of the Dragon Lady."

"But her brother was murdered!" Squirrel blurted out. "We have the murderer's name! And every man, woman and child on this island swears fealty to her!"

"Aye," blue eyes turned to her laconically, "But have ye ever seen her?"

Squirrel felt foolish, and then betrayed. She remembered Sao Feng's words, the way his eyes had turned amused when he described the woman. _The dragon still rules… but in an imperfect vessel… When she was young, she depended on her brother alone. She had no mother, no father - just herself and her brother…_"Impossible." Squirrel stared at the table, glowering at the whorls in the wood. "He told me…"

"Your contact lied to ye, angel," Barbossa sat forward and steepled his hands. "He was either sent by Sao Feng to distract you, or, failing that, he fed ye what ye wanted to hear and he took your money, to boot."

Squirrel was so angry she couldn't even speak. _Sao Feng, you bastard, you lied to my face!_ _...Or did you?_

"There may very well be a woman here who bears that title," Barbossa admitted, "But that's of no consequence now. We've neither the time nor the means to make a deal with such an enigma."

Will looked just as angry. "So all Miss Grey's done - all the hard work and the risks - are for nothing?" The rest of the crew murmured in agreement.

"I never said that." Barbossa sat back again. The monkey grinned at Will, then cooed at Squirrel. "If an idea of your'n worked when we caught the _Diana_, angel, I've no doubt one'll work here. True, your idea is wonderfully made. But it won't work. Not now." He paused a moment, and glanced around. Then he lowered his voice, murmuring, "We've a meeting with Sao Feng himself. Tonight."

It took all of Squirrel's willpower not to look to Will in alarm. Instead, she kept her eyes on Barbossa.

"Sao Feng?" Elizabeth breathed. "But you said…"

"Ooh, 'e's gonna kill us!" Pintel wailed. "'E's gonna kill us!"

"I 'eard 'e cuts off bits of you, one by one," Ragetti murmured in fear. "Each of your fingers, then your toes, then your tongue and your nose and then your arms and then your legs…"

Barbossa glanced at the two of them. "When you two gents are done wailin' and gnashin' your teeth," he burred scathingly, "P'raps I could finish?" The two pirates quieted immediately. Barbossa turned back to the rest of the crew and smiled briefly. "As I said," he continued, "We've a meeting with Sao Feng. Some strange spirit of generosity prompted him t' seek me out and offer us the opportunity for a fair trade and a friendly chat." He frowned to himself. "Meanin', o' course, that we should be on our guard for his inevitable betrayal."

"Why would Sao Feng want to speak to us?" Elizabeth frowned, looking wary.

"Why would him not?" Tia asked, pulling out her deck of cards again. She pulled a card free and showed it to Elizabeth alone. "Him know we are here. But _why_ are we here? He does not know. And dat puzzle him greatly." Tia smiled enigmatically again and looked around at the crew, and her eyes met Squirrel's for a long moment. Squirrel had to fight not to squirm.

Barbossa steepled his fingers again. "This is where we stand, ladies and gents. Tonight, we bargain with Sao Feng for a ship, and for safe passage out of Singapore."

Will clenched his fists. His and Squirrel's plan was falling down about their ears with every second that passed. "And the charts? Are we to bargain with him for them?" Barbossa shook his head mutely.

But Tia laughed. "Ah, Will-yam," she purred, reaching out and stroking his arm, "You t'ink dat Sao Feng will part wit' such a valuable t'ing so easily?" Will pulled his arm out of Tia's reach, frowning at her; Elizabeth wore a matching frown as she looked with surprise at the swamp woman. Tia smiled inkily at them both, then sat back in her chair and focused on the cards, arranging them in a strange pattern.

"We can't afford t' bargain with Sao Feng for the charts, Mister Turner," Barbossa explained, while Will frowned darkly. "We simply don't have any payment to offer him that he will accept."

"So what makes you think he'll be willing to give us a ship?" Gibbs folded his arms and looked disdainfully at the man.

Barbossa smiled; the monkey chattered and grinned. "Every man has his price, Master Gibbs. Every man has his price."

"What _have_ you promised Sao Feng?" Elizabeth asked, sceptical and a little suspicious.

Barbossa waved a hand dismissively. "Naught that matters at the moment."

"So what then?" Squirrel bit the words off. "We come all this way, only to leave empty-handed? Forgive me, Barbossa, but I just…"

"…'just don't see how such a voyage is possible'?" Barbossa raised a sardonic eyebrow. When Squirrel lapsed back into silence, quieted by her own words, Barbossa chuckled. "Fear not, angel. All ye've done's not been for naught. And I've no intention of wasting our voyage here, nor the information ye've gathered or the plan you've laid." He put his palms flat on the table, commanding the attention of all. "First thing's first, we need a ship. Sao Feng alone can guarantee us that. But we came for the charts. Sao Feng has them in his possession. So, we need to get them from him, get on the ship, and leave before he notices." He paused, then grinned. "And by 'get them', I mean steal them." He glanced at Will. "Or 'commandeer' them, whichever term ye prefer."

The crew sat in silence a moment.

Barbossa chuckled slowly, then smiled at Squirrel. "As I said, angel, ye've laid a fair plan. But it's not enough. The one we need to make a deal with has changed, as have the conditions of that deal. Painting a dragon on Will's back won't be enough."

Squirrel crumpled the sketch of the dragon into a ball. "Then we won't be needing this."

"Aye," Barbossa nodded, "But we'll still need your help on this, angel." He looked around the table, and added, "We'll need _all_ of your help. If this is to work, each of us _must_ play a role. We have to convince Sao Feng that we came only for a ship, and will leave quietly. And then we take the charts out from under him." He turned and grinned at Squirrel, "How's that for false colours, angel?"

"So this is just like on the _Diana_," Squirrel said softly, not altogether convinced but warming to his idea, "I come up with a good idea, and you hijack it."

Barbossa shrugged. "Pirate."

Several people around the table winced slightly. Will was one of them, but he recovered quickly. "So what are our 'roles', Barbossa? What are we to do?"

A glint came into those ice-blue eyes of his. "Similar to the idea Miss Grey came up with. Ye said ye'll do whatever it takes, Mister Turner, no matter the risk. Ye've no objection to puttin' yerself in harm's way, even if I'm the one givin' the orders?" When Will nodded - albeit a little hesitatingly - Barbossa turned to Squirrel. "Then I've t' ask ye to do so as well, angel."

"No." Will folded his arms, silencing Squirrel before she'd even had a chance to speak. "Squirrel's done enough. She's already put her life in considerable danger. You can't ask any more of her."

Barbossa's smile vanished. His gaze was steady. "Ye said ye could trust me, Mister Turner, long before this voyage began. Can ye still?" Reluctantly, Will nodded. "Then trust me now, Mister Turner." Barbossa looked again to Squirrel. Waiting.

Squirrel found her voice, but glanced to Will to comfort him. "Everything carries risk. Even a roll of the dice." She managed a small smile to the man in black. "I think I can handle one last jaunt through Singapore, Hector."

Barbossa laughed. "Good to hear it, angel." The monkey chattered from his shoulder.

"I'm in this as well," Elizabeth added, leaning forward in her chair, smiling reassuringly at both Will and Squirrel. The governor's daughter then looked to Barbossa. "You said we all have to play a part in this. I'm in. Whatever needs to be done, I'll do it."

"Aye," Gibbs nodded. "Me as well."

Around the table, the other members of the crew gave their assent. They faced each other from around the circular table. Each of their faces were alternately covered then revealed by the flickering and dancing of the flames of the candles within the hanging paper lanterns. The night outside glittered with firefly stars, and a breeze whispered through the shutters, bringing the taste of the sea. But the darkness - like the humid air - was oppressive, and thickened with every passing moment.

"_Bon_!" Tia clapped her hands suddenly, making them all jump. "Den we are all agreed, _oui_?"

"Seems that way," Squirrel murmured, so none heard her.

"Then get yourselves armed and ready," Barbossa said, rising to his feet. "Fortune favours the prepared, and I think I speak for us all when I say we're not going to let ourselves be caught unawares here. Not after all we've gone through."

"Aye," the crew all rose to their feet, their voices rising with them.

Barbossa nodded, his smile slowly vanishing. "Then let's get underway."

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A/N**: If I haven't finished my assignments by the time I post the next chapter, then I'll probably fail 3-quarters of all my subjects. So… I'll be gone for a while. Leave me reviews! I love hearing from you guys :) 


	35. Best Laid Plans

**Disclaimer**: POTC isn't mine, but it sure as heaven and hell kicks ass!

**A/N**: Sorry about the wait, but this was a hardish chapter to write. It also may need to be edited for certain details, but that's cool. Just a warning: the rating going up because of this chapter. If you're underage or of delicate sensibility, stop reading now.

-**edit**- Few minor details fixed.

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Two figures moved silently, swiftly through the shadows, ducking through the streets and side-alleys, keeping out of sight and as quiet as they could. Though the darkness was at its strongest and this part of town was near deserted, paper lanterns still flickered in the humidity, and people still walked the night. These two could not afford to be seen. 

The western harbour was built differently to the half that the crew had seen. This half of the island was strung together by kampongs, rickety wooden buildings built on stilts over the water and connected by bridges across the water. It was hard to be silent across these creaking, swaying bridges and platforms; hard not to disturb the shadows cast by ropes and wooden beams. But the two figures moved slowly, surely, through the darkness. They paused a moment behind one of the homes, and stood tense, waiting. The second lifted a hand, flicked two fingers forward; the first nodded, and moved carefully through the maze to the next house, and there stood waiting. At some unspoken signal, the second figure joined the first, and there they waited yet again. Their eyes scanned the darkness, every sense electric for any sound out of place or shadow contrary to the moonlight.

The plan was as perfect as it could be, and the pieces, like mah-jong tiles, were all in place. But Squirrel was still afraid. There was so much that could go wrong. So much to fall apart. So much to lose.

A fog was rolling in across the ocean, and clouds swept soft and silent across the moon like a cloak. Darkness and fog helped the two silent shadows, but they were still alert. Still on guard. The two of them were as dark as the shadows they travelled within, and just as soundless. The wind ruffled a paper lantern, and a shaft of light illuminated their faces for a moment. Both were grim and serious - one a young man, the other a young woman. Silenced and darkened, they'd left the inn to do what they needed to do.

While Elizabeth had been prepped by Barbossa, given lines to say and warnings of what to expect, Will and Squirrel had prepared for their part of the plan. They'd wrapped their swords in cloth and bound them to their legs so that they would not rattle or clang or give away their owners. Squirrel had bound her fireworks around her waist like another belt to keep them from clattering, and smothered each of the pouches hanging from her belt. Will's wedding rings were wrapped in cloth and in one of Squirrel's belt pouches, a bit of trust that both touched and frightened Squirrel.

When he'd handed the rings to her, the tension between them made the very room hum. Squirrel may have flipped the coin into the air, and it may have landed on its edge that night, but its effects were still continuing. Still being felt. Treachery and secrecy had made them closer than brother and sister, but neither of them could - or would - dare to acknowledge it. Not even to themselves. There was an intimacy here that went beyond friendship, yet dared not go any further. The rings were proof enough of that.

Neither was willing to hurt the other - or to be hurt again. And they could not betray the ones they loved, even if that betrayal was deserved. Squirrel needed Will. Will trusted Squirrel. That was as far as they could go.

As far as they should.

The night air was dark and close, and clung to Squirrel's skin. She glanced at Will while they waited in the darkness. He strained his eyes against the night, his jaw tight and shoulders hunched slightly against the cool of the evening and the tension of waiting. Sometimes, waiting for the next play was the best thing that one could do. But this was a dangerous game. His eyes were so heavy, so burdened, so conflicted; Squirrel knew her eyes mirrored his. Squirrel wanted to reach out and touch him, brush her fingers along his arm, but she dared not. Not even to reassure.

Neither of them spoke. Tonight was a night for treachery. There was no need for words.

Squirrel moved forward, ducking under hanging ropes and dodging the light from hanging lanterns, and waited in the next hiding place. And as she looked back, watching Will bide his time, listening for the all-clear, she remembered what had transpired between here now, and the journey that had been taken.

She remembered the way steel blade had clashed on steel, on the way she and Will had danced around each other, their breath hot and panting. She remembered the way that his strong hands had guided her body when the two of them swam in the dark salt waves. She remembered how safe she'd felt, just knowing that he stood nearby, watching her, whenever she stared up at the stars. She remembered the way Will had caught her when she'd fallen, on that day when her heart had shattered.

A gecko, clinging to the wall above Squirrel's head, gave its rapid-fire clicking call, then scuttled out of sight. The sound made Squirrel jump. Will's appearance out of the night was such a reassurance, such a comfort. He glanced to her, his eyes not really seeing her, then ran lightly on, through the corridor of shadows, past homes and crates and ropes and lanterns, the boards creaking faintly under his feet. Squirrel remained where she was, listening, watching, waiting.

She remembered. One night, waking dreams behind a closed door. Will had come through that door, too restless to sleep, searching for her, and had tripped over her prone form.

_"William?"_ Squirrel clutched her side as she heard him pull himself to his feet. _"Is that you?"_

Will crawled to her, worried he may have hurt her. Assured she was alright, he asked, "_What are you doing? Is this some act of contrition?" _She was sleeping on the floor, on cold hard wooden floorboards instead of back in her bed, with not even a blanket around her shoulders.

Squirrel shook her head and pushed herself to her knees. _"Old habits die hard."_ Tortuga had a hold on her still.

Will flicked two fingers from the shadows, and Squirrel ducked her head and danced towards him, stepping lightly and carefully over the treacherously-creaking boards. She made it to Will's side, and skidded gently to a halt. Will glanced to her, balled both hands into fists, then looked across the water. Squirrel saw what concerned him. The only way to cross to the other side from here was over a rickety bridge. The clouds had unveiled the moon, and all was bright. If they were seen, it would be the end of it. Their plan would come to naught. But there was no other way. They would have to cross that bridge. Squirrel hooked her fingers with one hand, and covered them with the palm of the other - _wait for the clouds to cover the moon_. Will nodded, then craned his head up to the sky. Squirrel scanned the darkness, making sure they were not seen or followed. And as they waited, her thoughts wandered.

She remembered. A sword lesson, months ago, when the sandalwood from Arabia scented the air, and muezzins called the faithful to prayer. They stood at the railing of the ship, and watched the sun go down, the sky as red as spilt blood.

_"I thought you'd be leaving,"_ Will murmured. _"You've had so many chances to, already, but you're still here." _

_"What?" _

_"You said you wanted a life out of his shadow…" _

Squirrel shook her head. _"I don't think I can." _

_"Leave?"_

_"Find a life out of his shadow." _

A tiny wisp of cloud flew across the moon, and Squirrel darted forward. The bridge groaned and swayed suddenly, nearly toppling her into the water, but she regained her balance quickly, and kept running until she'd reached the shadows on the other side. And not a moment too soon - the moon's light came back with a vengeance. Squirrel silently cursed herself for her stupidity as she tucked herself between two homes. Just because the other bridges had been silent and secure she'd expected the same of this one. Someone would have heard that. But there was no going back now. They'd come too far already.

Across the water, Will waited, tense and still, eyes flickering back and forth; Squirrel did the same on her side. Moments passed, long anxious moments.

She remembered. Stealing a rare moment of privacy in the shadows below deck. "_I'm impressed you've stayed so faithful to __Elizabeth__,"_ Squirrel whispered. Will lifted his head, distracted by her comment from his thoughts of mutiny, of regaining the _Black Pearl_.

_"Perhaps,"_ he said, eyes dark and soul filled with anger, "_More faithful to what we're planning."_ His eyes had widened in alarm, realising what he had just said, but there was no getting the words back.

The fog rolled in thicker, thicker. A cloud smothered the light of the moon, and Will came from his hiding place. He strolled carefully across the bridge, each step testing each board. Squirrel's eyes burned intensely as she watched every move he made. They had to hurry. They didn't have the time for setbacks here. The plan hinged entirely on their being where they had to be. Like a batik tattoo, Barbossa and Elizabeth's deception would hold… but not for long. Speed and stealth were paramount. Squirrel hoped beyond all hope that both she and her student would be up to the task.

Will made it to the other side and slid through the darkness towards her. He fixed her with a dark look, clearly conveying his thought about her dash across the water. _Reckless!_ Squirrel shrugged - _no harm done_ - and glanced about. Off in the distance, she saw the scalloped roof of the temple where she'd met Sao Feng. It was as stark as a knife against the darkness. But that was not their destination tonight. Their destination was closer to the shore.

Will moved again, pushing further into the darkness. Squirrel turned to follow after him, but movement on the docks caught her eye. She froze where she was.

Nothing. Just the kampongs and their moorings swaying with the movement of the tide and the wind. No shadows, no motion, no sound. There was nothing. Uneasy, Squirrel turned and moved on.

Will was waiting for her. When she came up beside him in the shadows, glanced to her, quizzically, wondering why she'd paused and looked back. She had no explanation. Just vague, paranoid fears. When she'd broken into Jack's cabin to find the way to Isla Cruces, she'd felt the same eyes on her back. The same feeling creeping up her spine, which, in another situation, might have been called guilt. But here? The only guilt came from standing so close to Mister Turner. She shifted away from him, slightly, but the gap between shadows was not kind to their desire for personal space. Will turned, and fixed Squirrel with eyes deep and dark. Squirrel matched his gaze. Neither of them spoke. What could be said? What could be said that had not been said already, in one way or another? Will reached out to touch her, to reassure or to comfort, but Squirrel did not move - neither towards him nor away from him - so Will's arm dropped to his side again. No words passed between them, for what could be said? Too much had been said already, in one form or another.

Squirrel slid through the shadows away from Will's heavy and questioning gaze, and her feet whispered as she walked. Each whisper reminded her of what had been said, what had been done. All that they'd done to reach this point.

And the plan they'd created together, to honour the promise they shared.

Pausing for a moment to check her path, Squirrel's eye was caught by a fluttering moth. No longer content with simply battering itself against the paper, it rose and found the source of the light. Squirrel watched the shadow play as it swooped and fluttered around the flame. She saw the moth's silhouette come too close, saw a wisp of smoke rise and the moth tumble downwards. Squirrel stepped over the crippled insect as she passed.

She had been burned in much the same way. She'd gone too close to the fire. She'd loved the way Jack had made her burn, but had suffered for it. Her angel's wings would never know flight again. Yet she was on a path to walk straight back into the flames. Back into his arms, to burn once more.

_"Foolish... I just want him out of my heart." _

Squirrel pulled herself back into an alley, freezing as she heard something shift - a footstep, perhaps? She tensed, alert and balanced on her toes. The darkness revealed nothing to her eyes. But the dread would not leave her. Her fears were quelled somewhat when Will appeared out of the night at her side. His eyes were fixed at a building further out on the bay. Even from this distance, the sound of laughter and song could be heard. This was their destination, where Barbossa and Elizabeth were to meet the pirate lord of Singapore and bargain for a ship and safe passage. And where Will and Squirrel would go to steal the charts to Davy Jones' Locker.

Will motioned, and Squirrel followed his gesture with her eyes. In order to reach the meeting place, they would have to be split from each other's sight. So far, they'd been able to run in straight lines, making short hops through the shadows and the buildings. But now, they would have to split up. A kampong stood in their way, and they would have to go around it. In rounding the corner they would be separated from each other. They would both be on their own, without the other to watch out for them. And no way to signal the other whether it would be safe to follow or not.

Risky. Very, very risky. But what choice did they have?

Squirrel glanced to Will. He nodded, thinking he understood, and made to leave. But Squirrel held up a hand, stopping him. He looked at her.

As the fog rolled in and the cloud breezed over the moon, Squirrel heard the sound of a heartbeat. Will's heartbeat. The sound of Squirrel's own heartbeat was replaced by a dull throb that she could feel pulsing beneath her skin. There was so much she could say now. So much she could tell him. But this was neither the time nor the place. And she certainly wasn't the person to say them, and Will wasn't the one she could say them to. Not anymore.

"Be careful," she whispered, the only words she'd dared to say the whole night. And the only thing she could say, freely and without fear. Will's eyes widened slightly, then he smiled. Grateful, relieved, and understanding. Understanding more than what was just said. Squirrel lowered her hand, and Will moved noiselessly forward. Squirrel watched him go, watched his blood-red shirt blend and vanish into the shadows, watched that shadow slide and disappear around the corner. She counted to ten, then stepped out from where she stood.

The cloud above her shifted, and the moonlight drove her back. As she silently cursed her timing, Squirrel heard yet again the sound of a board creaking. But this time, it was right behind her. The thought rang through her mind a second too late: _Something bad always happens when I look over my shoulder_.

But even as the thought solidified, fact proved it false. There was nothing behind her but shadow and starlight. Squirrel's hand lowered from her chest - it was a futile gesture anyway. The sash with its throwing daggers was smothered between her vest and her buttoned-up shirt. She'd not be able to defend herself with those weapons this evening, even if the worst should happen.

_Not if. When. _

Fear was getting the best of her. As soon as the cloud passed in front of the moon again, Squirrel moved quickly forward, following in Will's footsteps. But as soon as she rounded the corner, she was lost. Where was he now? She cast her eyes about, searching for him. Had he moved on? He wouldn't have. So where was he? There were so many shadows here, so many places for one to hide. As Squirrel peered through the darkness, she saw something move in the corner of her eye. Something large was moving out on the dark black ocean, through the fog. A large white square of canvas - a ship's sails? Squirrel turned, confused, but all she saw was fog and darkness.

Nothing. Just her imagination. Just like these noises that were following her. Nothing.

She moved on, turning her back on the bay and scanning the shadows between the kampongs. Calling for Will would be folly. But she knew he had to be close by. Somewhere. And he would certainly find some way of letting her know where he was. A board creaked to her left, and then a stone or something similar skittered over the wood to her right. She smiled to herself, and turned her eyes to the left.

A hand clamped over her mouth and an arm closed around her from behind, trapping her. Surprise made her freeze - she was easily dragged back into the shadows, where the others were waiting. She kicked and struggled, but to no avail. She tried to bite the hand that silenced her, but they held both her lips and jaw shut. She couldn't scream. She couldn't call for help. She was pinned. Trapped.

_So what do I do?_ The conversation between herself and Sao Feng echoed through her panicked mind.

_Simple. Don't get caught. _

Xin Fu grinned as he strode forward, the light from a lantern casting demonic shadows about his face. "_Well, well_," he purred, "_What have we snared this evening? The _guai lo _girl? And alone_?" He leant forward and grinned, his face inches from Squirrel's. "_Not so strong now, are you, _ang moh_? Without your friends, your words, or your blades_." He clearly relished the look of fear in her eyes.

His men closed in around her. Squirrel saw them all, recognised each of their faces. The one she'd thrown her daggers at leered venomously, the three almost-healed scars marring his face. He waggled his tongue at her, and cackled to himself as Squirrel grunted inaudibly at him.

"_Lord_ _Sao Feng has asked a high price for you_," Xin Fu said, folding his arms and smirking. "_And he insisted that we bring you to him alive_." He sighed, and looked to his men, as if to say, _Isn't that so unfair?_ Then he turned back to Squirrel, wearing a grin a shark would be proud to bear. "_But you have humiliated me,_ ang moh. _It is only fair that you pay in blood_." He barked a short laugh as Squirrel started struggling again. The man holding Squirrel tightened his grip, crushing her ribs and arms both until she ceased. Xin Fu wasn't done talking yet.

"_Fortunately, I am loyal to the Dragon Lady. And I will bring you to Sao Feng alive, as I swore_." Xin Fu stepped back a pace, looking for all the world like one of those peaceable golden statues in the Chinese temples. Then he grinned, and the illusion was shattered.

The man with the scarred face grabbed Squirrel's breast. She screamed in her throat and kicked up, trying to knee him in the groin. He swayed his hips back, out of harm's way. Then he laughed, and grabbed her other breast. Squirrel screamed again, and struggled all she could, trying to shake him free. The other men swarmed in, and their hands… their hands…

Visions swum before Squirrel's eyes. Tortuga. Years ago, Tortuga. It was happening all over again. She'd bit and kicked and escaped those times before. But she was younger and faster and they had always been drunk and she'd gotten away. But these men were sober and they had caught her and she couldn't get away this time. Closing her eyes did not make them vanish like the nightmare it was, nor did it make the hands stop pinching, pulling, touching her…

Squirrel writhed, but could not break free. The hands groped her more viciously. She tried to kick them away from her, but they stomped viciously on her toes, pinning her feet beneath heavy boots. Someone punched her in the gut, and she was paralysed, winded. She couldn't breathe. The arms trapping her arms and body released her, and she fell forward, gasping. They were on her immediately. One of the men started tugging at her belt.

_No!_ Soundless, breathless, she tried to gather her wits and her strength, tried to keep them away. _NO!_ She was hoisted off her feet by her shirt collar, and slammed viciously against the wall. Stars and blackness obscured her vision for an instant, and she reeled. Tears smarted in her eyes. She still couldn't breathe.

They were having trouble with her belt, with all the pouches and items that hung from it, but that would not slow them down for long. The scarred man grabbed her breasts again, and crushed her against the wall. Two other men pinned her arms either side of her. She struggled vainly. Xin Fu watched, smirking, shrouded in the night, as his men pawed at her. They all laughed. Laughed.

Tortuga's shadows closed clawlike around her. She was helpless. She was…

_Useless_.

_NO!_ Squirrel snapped her head forward, slamming her skull against his. Stars screamed across her vision and the world spun around her, and more tears rolled down her face. The scarred man staggered back, stunned a moment, then snarled and charged, crushing her more viciously against the wall, slamming her head back a second time. Squirrel gave a feeble mew at the pain, the only breath she had to spare.

The scarred man tightened his grip painfully and breathed hot and foul into her face. "_I'm going to enjoy this_," he hissed, yanking at her pants, tugging them loose.

Squirrel screamed silently. _Someone! Anyone! Please! Help me!_ But she couldn't even squeak out the words.

With her eyes screwed against the fear and their leering faces, she could not struggle any longer. Squirrel turned her face, surrendering. The men sensed the change, and crowed in delight. Something metallic sung through the air. Squirrel, with helpless, frightened tears falling from her eyes, felt something warm splatter on her face. She thought a moment that one of them had spat on her. It wouldn't have been surprising.

But spit didn't smell like copper. And the silence that suddenly fell was frightening.

Squirrel opened her eyes, and turned back to look at the man who had her pinned against the wall. He still stood before, his face in hers. But his face had changed. His eyes - still filled with malice and lust - were slowly glazing over, and thin ribbon of blood trailed slowly from the middle of his forehead down his nose. The blood came from the wound in his head. From the sword that impaled his skull.

Will leapt down from the rooftops, murder in his eyes, and charged towards the men.

Xin Fu and his thugs leapt at him, leaving Squirrel and the dead man to collapse in the darkness. Shaking, tearful, and still trying to catch her breath, Squirrel could only stare as Will's fists flew.

_William. You came back for me. You saved me. _

Will bobbed and swayed and struck out with the grace of a practiced fighter. His blacksmith's arms possessed strength on their own, enough to send men reeling, spitting blood and teeth. But against men with blades and other weaponry, Will was fighting a losing battle. He needed a sword. Where was his sword?

Squirrel stared at the dead man draped across ground before her.

_Will's arm snapped, and his sword sliced through the air, _thunk_ing into the mast with deadly accuracy, and swung there, trapped in the wood, singing from the force of the blow… "… very sharp rocks…"_

Squirrel pulled the weapon from its grisly sheath. She watched the fight, and, as soon as she had the chance to catch Will's eye, she threw the sword to him. Will held out his arm, pivoted on one foot, and snagged his sword from the air. A mere glance showed his gratefulness before he returned to the fray. The odds were now much more in his favour. Squirrel shakily hauled herself to her feet, still winded and shaking.

Xin Fu turned, eyes blazing, leaving his men to fight Will, and advanced on Squirrel. Squirrel fumbled with her belt, trying to free her sword from its sheath, from where she'd bound it. Xin Fu saw the fear in her eyes and the panic in her movements, and grinned. She was helpless. He readied both axes.

"_Ang moh_," he snarled, placing the blade of one axe under her chin and tilting her head back. He drew back his second axe, ready to strike, to slash her throat wide open.

With her first free breath, Squirrel swore and abandoned her sword. Her dagger sufficed for what she needed to do.

Both axes clattered to the ground. Xin Fu clamped both hands over his opened stomach, surprise in his eyes. His wrists spurted feebly at heartbeat intervals. Squirrel felt sick; she pulled back, disgusted at not only what she'd just done, but how _easy_ it had been. Her dagger was bloody in her scarred left hand. Xin Fu staggered to one knee, and cried for assistance.

Will leapt through the air, the sword in his hand a mere blur of silver. The coward's head rolled along the ground.

Xin Fu's warriors hesitated a mere second. Then they swore and snarled and rushed at Will and Squirrel both. Will leapt before her, shielding her from the six remaining men.

"GO!" Will shouted, "RUN!"

Squirrel didn't even think. She ran. The sounds of the battle rang in her ears and the smell of blood smothered her senses. She ran, and the nightmare of Tortuga chased after her, as it had done those years ago.

She fled from it as she always had.

When she came to her senses, she found she was still clutching the dagger in her hand. It was still slick with Xin Fu's blood. She didn't have any breath to cry with, so she just numbly cleaned the blade and sheathed it again. Her belt was loose - she tightened, tightened, tightened it, shaking with the memory of those groping hands. She felt like she'd never be safe again. More nightmares to haunt her. She gave a sob, a choked gasp, and sobbed again.

She had no idea where she'd run to, or how long she'd been running. Around her, the roofs of the kampongs curved and pierced the night sky. Squirrel was perched on one of these roofs. She had no memory of climbing. She'd climbed so often in Tortuga it was nothing but second nature to her. On the rooftops, she was safe.

Saf_er_. She'd not be safe from what had been done to her. Not ever. Not ever again.

She stared at her hands, stared at how badly they were shaking. Her vision blurred with tears. She tried to speak, but could not. Her breath was ragged. She felt dirty, unclean. She felt like throwing up, but all she had was tears. The fear was still there, but it was fading. She was out of their reach. They were dead, or dying. They'd never touch her again. She breathed a little easier, but was still haunted by the ghosts of their hands and their leering eyes. Someone had come to her rescue, true, but… Squirrel gave a shuddering sob, and clawed at her skin, trying to peel the feeling from her.

She stared out over the water, over the dark ocean that was just as black as the sky above. And her breath caught in her throat.

This time it was no dream, no illusion of paranoia or baseless fear. There was a white sail coming through the fog. A ship was here, and not one of the Chinese vessels. It was one of the ones Squirrel knew well. Her heart leapt into her throat with joy and relief at seeing that familiar cut of sail again. But then the ship nosed through the fog, and that dream was shattered. This wasn't the _Diana_. This was a man 'o war, a forty-gunner. Far too large, far too strong. And it flew the flag of the East India Trading Company.

The groping hands and the leering faces were banished from her mind. She remembered. Squirrel stared at the Company warship, at its sails and its guns and the men that lined its deck. _How had Beckett found us? How?_ They'd been so careful and yet… _How?_ The answer came swiftly. _Hamilton_! Of course! That opportunistic bastard had sold them out. Anger made her snarl, then fear clutched at her heart. _Sam?_ Sam had been on the _Diana_. What had become of him? Was he even still alive? _Sam, please be safe! _She turned her eyes skywards. _Don't let anything have happened to him, please! Let him be safe!_

Safe…

Squirrel looked back over the rooftops, back towards the building in the bay. The crew were in danger: Barbossa, Elizabeth, and all her family. They had no idea that this… that Beckett… was here. They'd be ambushed, caught unawares, and slaughtered. And Will would… She gave a strangled cry. _Will!_ He'd told her to flee, but she'd left him. She should have tried to help him, should have fought the fear… But no, she hadn't. And she couldn't have. Not then.

But now… Now she could.

Squirrel staggered to her feet, and wobbled a moment, trying to get her balance on the strange roof. Probabilities and scenarios danced in her head. For all of Will's fighting ability, she knew he would have been overpowered by now. But she knew those thugs wouldn't kill him. They would take him to Sao Feng, as a prisoner. If Xin Fu was a coward, the men he commanded would be even worse. They would be the kind of men who needed orders even for the slightest thing. Sao Feng himself would be the one they would turn to. Will would be fine… at the very least, he'd be alive. But the others… they needed to be warned. If they were to defend themselves…

The men from the Company ship leapt onto the docks, and started running through the town, bayonets in hand. The sailors that remained on the ship started loading the cannons.

There wasn't a moment to spare. Squirrel didn't have much of a plan, but she couldn't just sit there and do nothing. Not after all that had been done already. With the fog closing around her and the moon smothered by a blanket of cloud above her head, Squirrel took off at a run, vaulting and jumping from rooftop to rooftop. Heading towards the bay, where her friends were, unaware of the danger they were in.

**

* * *

A/N**: Again, I apologise if any sensibilities were offended. But for all its Disney-ness, the movie is about pirates. And pirates aren't usually very nice people. Well, that's it for 'To World's End'. Now, onto the movie! 

I actually wrote another version of this chapter, before I saw the trailers or had any idea of how it would begin. You know, where they actually use Squirrel's idea with the dragon tattoo. After the 25th, that version of this chapter will be posted in the 'Squirrel Shortshots'. Feel free to check it out.


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